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Title: The History of the United States from 1492 to 1910, Volume 1
       From Discovery of America October 12, 1492 to Battle of
              Lexington April 19, 1775

Author: Julian Hawthorne

Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7131]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on March 14, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF U.S., V1 ***



Produced by Nathan Harris, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: THE WARRIOR'S LAST RIDE (See the Battle of Deerfield,
Vol. 1., p. 205) _Painted by Frederic Remington_]

THE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES FROM 1492 TO 1910

By JULIAN HAWTHORNE




VOLUME I

From Discovery Of America October 12, 1492

To

Battle Of Lexington April 19, 1775




CONTENTS OF VOLUME ONE

INTRODUCTION BEFORE DAWN

I. COLUMBUS, RALEIGH, AND SMITH

II. THE FREIGHT OF THE "MAYFLOWER"

III. THE SPIRIT OF THE PURITANS

IV. FROM HUDSON TO STUYVESANT

V. LIBERTY, SLAVERY, AND TYRANNY

VI. CATHOLIC, PHILOSOPHER, AND REBEL

VII. QUAKER, YANKEE, AND KING

VIII. THE STUARTS AND THE CHARTER

IX. THE NEW LEAF, AND THE BLOT ON IT

X. FIFTY YEARS OF FOOLS AND HEROES

XI. QUEM JUPITER VULT PERDERE

XII. THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM AND THE STAMP ACT

XIII. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON

XIV. THE SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD




INTRODUCTION


When we speak of History, we may mean either one of several things. A
savage will make picture-marks on a stone or a bone or a bit of wood; they
serve to recall to him and his companions certain events which appeared
remarkable or important for one or another reason; there was an
earthquake, or a battle, or a famine, or an invasion: the chronicler
himself, or some fellow-tribesman of his, may have performed some notable
exploit. The impulse to make a record of it was natural: posterity might
thereby be informed, after the chronicler himself had passed away,
concerning the perils, the valor, the strange experiences of their
ancestors. Such records were uniformly brief, and no attempt was made to
connect one with another, or to interpret them. We find such fragmentary
histories among the remains of our own aborigines; and the inscriptions of
Egypt and Mesopotamia are the same in character and intention, though more
elaborate. Warlike kings thus endeavored, from motives of pride, to
perpetuate the memory of their achievements. At the time when they were
inscribed upon the rock, or the walls of the tombs, or the pedestals of
the statues, they had no further value than this. But after the lapse of
many ages, they acquire a new value, far greater than the original one,
and not contemplated by the scribes. They assume their proper place in the
long story of mankind, and indicate, each in its degree, the manner and
direction of the processes by which man has become what he is, from what
he was. Thereby there is breathed into the dead fact the breath of life;
it rises from its tomb of centuries, and does its appointed work in the
mighty organism of humanity.

In a more complex state of society, a class of persons comes into being
who are neither protagonists, nor slaves, but observers; and they meditate
on events, and seek to fathom their meaning. If the observer be
imaginative, the picturesque side of things appeals to him; he dissolves
the facts, and recreates them to suit his conceptions of beauty and
harmony; and we have poetry and legend. Another type of mind will give us
real histories, like those of Herodotus, Thucydides, Tacitus and Livy,
which are still a model in their kind. These great writers took a broad
point of view; they saw the end from the beginning of their narrative;
they assigned to their facts their relative place and importance, and
merged them in a pervading atmosphere of opinion, based upon the organic
relation of cause and effect. Studying their works, we are enabled to
discern the tendencies and developments of a race, and to note the effects
of civilization, character, vice, virtue, and of that sum of them all
which we term fate.

During what are called the Dark Ages of Europe, history fell into the
hands of that part of the population which alone was conversant with
letters--the priestly class; and the annals they have left to us have none
of the value which belongs to the productions of classical antiquity. They
were again mere records; or they were mystical or fanciful tales of saints
and heroes, composed or distorted for the glorification of the church, and
the strengthening of the influence of the priests over the people. But
these also, in after times, took on a value which they had not originally
possessed, and become to the later student a precious chapter of the
history of mankind.

Meanwhile, emerging august from the shadows of antiquity, we have that
great body of literature of which our own Bible is the highest type, which
purports to present the story of the dealings of the Creator with His
creatures. These wonderful books appear to have been composed in a style,
and on a principle, the secret of which has been lost. The facts which
they relate, often seemingly trivial and disconnected, are really but a
material veil, or symbol, concealing a spiritual body of truth, which is
neither trivial nor disconnected, but an organized, orderly and catholic
revelation of the nature of man, of the processes of his spiritual
regeneration, of his final reconciliation with the Divine. The time will
perhaps come when some inspired man or men will be enabled to handle our
modern history with the same esoteric insight which informed the Hebrew
scribes, when they used the annals of the obscure tribe to which they
belonged as a cover under which to present the relations of God with all
the human race, past and to come.

       *       *       *       *       *

Modern history tends more and more to become philosophic: to be an
argument and an interpretation, rather than a bald statement of facts. The
facts contained in our best histories bear much the same relation to the
history itself, that the flesh and bones of the body bear to the person
who lives in and by them. The flesh and bones, or the facts, have to
exist; but the only excuse for their existence is, that the person may
have being, or that the history may trace a spiritual growth or decadence.
There was perhaps a time when the historian found a difficulty in
collecting facts enough to serve as a firm foundation for his edifice of
comment and deduction; but nowadays, his embarrassment is rather in the
line of making a judicious selection from the enormous mass of facts which
research and the facilities of civilization have placed at his disposal.
Not only is every contemporary event recorded instantly in the newspapers
and elsewhere; but new light is being constantly thrown upon the past,
even upon the remotest confines thereof. Some of the facts thus brought
before us are original and vital; others are mere echoes, repetitions, and
unimportant variations.

But the historian, if he wishes his work to last, must build as does the
Muse in Emerson's verse, with

         .... "Rafters of immortal pine,
  Cedar incorruptible, worthy her design."

Or he may be sure that the historian who comes after him will sift the
wheat from his chaff, and leave him no better reputation than that of the
quarry from which the marble of the statue comes. He must tell a
consecutive story, but must eschew all redundancy, furnish no more
supports for his bridge than its stability requires, prune his tree so
severely that it shall bear none but good fruit, forbear to freight the
memory of his reader with a cargo so unwieldy as to sink it. On the other
hand, of course, he must beware of being too terse; man cannot live by
bread alone, and the reader of histories needs to be told the Why as well
as the What. But the historical field is so wide that one man, in his one
lifetime, can hardly hope by independent and original investigation both
to collect all the data from which to build his structure, and so to
select his timbers that only the indispensable ones shall be employed. In
reality, we find one historian of a given subject or period succeeding
another, and refining upon his methods and treatment. With each successive
attempt the outlook becomes clearer and more comprehensive, and the
meaning of the whole more pronounced. The spirit, for the sake of which
the body exists, more and more dominates its material basis, until at last
the latter practically vanishes "in the light of its meaning sublime."
This is the apotheosis of history, which of course has not yet been
attained, and probably can never be more than approximated.

       *       *       *       *       *

The present work is a very modest contribution toward the desired result.
It makes few or no pretensions to original research. There are many
histories of the United States and the fundamental facts thereof are
known. But it remains for the student to endeavor to solve and declare the
meaning of the familiar events; to state his view of their source and
their ultimate issue. In these volumes, I have taken the view that the
American nation is the embodiment and vehicle of a Divine purpose to
emancipate and enlighten the human race. Man is entering upon a new career
of spiritual freedom: he is to enjoy a hitherto unprecedented condition of
political, social and moral liberty--as distinguished from license, which
in truth is slavery. The stage for this grand evolution was fixed in the
Western Continent, and the pioneers who went thither were inspired with
the desire to escape from the thralldom of the past, and to nourish their
souls with that pure and exquisite freedom which can afford to ignore the
ease of the body, and all temporal luxuries, for the sake of that elixir
of immortality. This, according to my thinking, is the innermost core of
the American Idea; if you go deep enough into surface manifestations, you
will find it. It is what differentiates Americans from all other peoples;
it is what makes Americans out of emigrants; it is what draws the masses
of Europe hither, and makes their rulers fear and hate us. It may often,
and uniformly, happen that any given individual is unconscious of the
Spirit that moves within him; for it is the way of that Spirit to
subordinate its manifestations to its ends, knowing the frailty of
humanity. But it is there, and its gradual and cumulative results are seen
in the retrospect, and it may perhaps be divined as to the outline of some
of its future developments.

Some sort of recognition of the American Idea, and of the American
destiny, affords the only proper ground for American patriotism. We talk
of the size of our country, of its wealth and prosperity, of its physical
power, of its enlightenment; but if these things be all that we have to be
proud of, we have little. They are in truth but outward signs of a far
more precious possession within. We are the pioneers of the new Day, or we
are nothing worth talking about. We are at the threshold of our career.
Our record thus far is full of faults, and presents not a few deformities,
due to our human frailties and limitations; but our general direction has
been onward and upward. At the moment when this book is finished, we seem
to be entering upon a fresh phase of our journey, and a vast horizon opens
around us. It was inevitable that America should not be confined to any
special area on the map of the world; it is of little importance that we
fill our own continent with men and riches. We are to teach men in all
parts of the world what freedom is, and thereby institute other Americas
in the very strongholds of oppression. In order to accomplish this,
Americans will be drawn forth and will obtain foothold in remote regions,
there to disseminate their genius and inculcate their aims. In Europe and
Asia are wars and rumors of wars; but there seems no reason why the true
revolution, which Americanism involves, should not be a peaceful and quiet
one. Our real enemies may be set in high places, but they are very few,
and their power depends wholly on those myriads who are at heart our
allies. If we can assure the latter of our good faith and
disinterestedness, the battle is won without fighting. Indeed, the day for
Mohammedan conquests is gone by, and any such conquest would be far worse
than futile.

These are theories and speculations, and so far as they enter into my
book, they do so as atmosphere and aim only; they are not permitted to
mold the character of the narrative, so that it may illustrate a foregone
conclusion. I have related the historical story as simply and directly as
I could, making use of the best established authorities. Here and there I
have called attention to what seemed to me the significance of events; but
any one is at liberty to interpret them otherwise if he will. After all
the best use of a history is probably to stimulate readers to think for
themselves about the events portrayed; and if I have succeeded in doing
that, I shall be satisfied. The history of the United States does mean
something: what is it? Are we a decadent fruit that is rotten before it is
ripe? or are we the bud of the mightiest tree of time? The materials for
forming your judgment are here; form it according as your faith and hope
may dictate.

JULIAN HAWTHORNE.




BEFORE DAWN


When, four centuries ago, adventurers from the Old World first landed on
the southern shores of the Western Continent, and pushed their way into
the depths of the primeval forest, they found growing in its shadowy
fastnesses a mighty plant, with vast leaves radiating upward from the
mould, and tipped with formidable thorns. Its aspect was unfriendly; it
added nothing to the beauty of the wilderness, and it made advance more
difficult. But from the midst of some of them uprose a tall stem, rivaling
in height the trees themselves, and crowned with a glorious canopy of
golden blossoms. The flower of the forbidding plant was the splendor of
the forest.

It was the Agave, or American Aloe, sometimes called the Century Plant,
because it blooms but once in a lifetime. It is of the family of the
lilies; but no other lily rivals its lofty magnificence. From the gloom of
the untrodden places it sends its shaft skyward into the sunshine; it is
an elemental growth: its simplicity equals its beauty. But until the
flower blooms, after its ages of preparation, the plant seems to have no
meaning, proportion, or comeliness; only when those golden petals have
unfolded upon the summit of their stately eminence do we comprehend the
symmetry and significance that had so long waited to avouch themselves.

This Lily of the Ages, native to American soil, may fittingly stand as
the symbol of the great Western Republic which, after so many thousand
years of spiritual vicissitude and political experiment, rises heavenward
out of the wilderness of time, and reveals its golden promise to those who
have lost their way in the dark forest of error and oppression. It was
long withheld, but it came at last, and about it center the best hopes of
mankind. These United States--this America of ours, as we love to call it
--is unlike any other nation that has preceded or is contemporary with it.
It is the conscious incarnation of a sublime idea--the conception of civil
and religious liberty. It is a spirit first, and a body afterward; thus
following the true law of immortal growth. It is the visible consummation
of human history, and commands the fealty of all noble minds in every
corner of the earth, as well as within its own boundaries. There are
Americans in all countries; but America is their home.

The seed is hidden in the soil; the germ is shut within the darkness of
the womb; the preparation for all birth is obscure. For more than a
century after the discovery of Columbus, no one divined the true
significance and destiny of the nation-that-was-to-be. Years passed before
it was understood even that the coast of the New World was anything more
than the western boundaries of the Asiatic continent; Columbus never
wavered from this conviction; the Cabots fancied that our Atlantic shores
were those of China; and though Balboa, in 1513, waded waist-deep into the
Pacific off Darien, and claimed it for Spain, yet the massive immensity of
America was not suspected. There was not space for it on the globe as then
plotted by geographers; it must be a string of islands, or at best but an
attenuated outlying bulwark of the East. News spread slowly in those days;
Vasco da Gama had reached India round the Cape of Good Hope before
Balboa's exploit; Columbus, on his third voyage, had touched the mainland
of South America, and young Sebastian Cabot, sailing from Bristol under
the English flag, had driven his prow against Labrador ice in his effort
to force a northwest passage; and still the truth was not fully realized.
And when, a century later, the English colonies were assigned their
boundaries, these were defined north, south and east, but to the west they
extended without limit. Panama was but thirty miles across, and no one
imagined that three thousand miles of solid land stretched between the
Chesapeake and the Bay of San Francisco. Then, as now, orthodoxy fought
against the heresy that there could be anything that was not as narrow as
itself.

And this physical denial or belittlement of the American continent had
its mental complement in the failure to comprehend the destiny of the
people which was to inhabit it. Spain thought only of material and
theological aggrandizements: of getting gold, and converting heathen, to
her own temporal and spiritual glory; and she was as ready to shed
innocent blood in the latter cause as in the former. England, without her
rival's religious bigotry, was as intent upon winning wealth through
territorial and commercial usurpations. Though not a few of the actual
discoverers and explorers were generous, magnanimous and kindly men,
having in view an honorable renown, based on opening new fields of life
and prosperity to future ages, yet the monarchs and the trading Companies
that stood behind them exhibited an unvarying selfishness and greed. The
new world was to them a field for plunder only. Each aimed to own it all,
and to monopolize its produce. The priestly missionaries of the Roman
Catholic faith did indeed pursue their ends with a self-sacrifice and
courage which deserve all praise; they devoted themselves at the risk and
often at the cost of their lives to the enterprise of winning souls, as
they believed, to Christ. But the Church dignitaries who sent forth these
soldiers of religion sought through them only to increase the credit of
their organization; they contemplated but the enlargement of their power.
The thought of establishing in the wilderness a place where men might rule
themselves in freedom entered not into their calculations. The spirit of
the old order survived the birth of the spirit of the new.

But the conflict thus provoked was necessary to the evolution which
Providence was preparing. The soul grows strong through hardship; truth
conquers by struggling against opposition. It is by resistance, at first
instinctive, against restraint that the infant attains self-consciousness.
The first settlers who came across the ocean were animated solely by the
desire to escape from oppression in their native land; they had as yet no
purpose to set up an independent empire. But, as the breath of the forest
and the prairie entered into their lungs, and the untrammeled spaciousness
of the virgin continent unshackled their minds, they began to resent,
though at first timidly, the arrogant pretension to rule them across the
waves. Their environment gave them courage, made them hardy and
self-dependent, enlightened their intelligence, weaned them from vain
traditions, revealed to them the truth that man's birthright is liberty.
And gradually, as the reins of tyranny were drawn tighter, these pioneers
of the New Day were wrought up to the pitch of throwing off all
allegiance, and setting their lives upon the cast. The idea of political
freedom is commonplace now; but to conceive it for the first time required
a mighty effort, and it could have been accomplished nowhere else than in
a vast and untrodden land. The Declaration of Independence, nearly three
centuries after Columbus's discovery of America, showed the hitherto blind
and sordid world what America was discovered for. Individual men of genius
had surmised it many years before; but their hope of forecast had been
deemed but an idle vision until in a moment, as it were, the reality was
born.

It was essential, however, to the final success of the great revolt, that
the men who brought it to pass should be the best of a chosen race. And
this requisite also was secured by conflict. It was the inveterate
persuasion of many generations that America was the land of gold. Tales
told by the Indians stimulated the imagination and the cupidity of the
first adventurers; legends of El Dorado kindled the horizons that fled
before them as they advanced. Somewhere beyond those savage mountains,
amid these pathless forests, was a noble city built and paved with gold.
Somewhere flowed a stately river whose waters swept between golden
margins, over sands of gold. In some remote region dwelt a barbarian
monarch to whom gold and precious stones were as the dross of the wayside.
These stories were the offspring of the legends of the alchemists of the
Dark Ages, who had professed to make gold in their crucibles; it was as
good to pick up gold in armfuls on the earth as to manufacture it in the
laboratory. The actual discovery of treasure in Mexico and Peru only
whetted the inexhaustible appetite of the adventurers; they toiled through
swamps, they cut their way through woods, they scaled precipices, they
fought savages, they starved and died; and their eyes, glazing in death,
still sought the gleam of the precious metal. Worse than death, to them,
would have been the revelation that their belief was baseless. The thirst
for wealth is not accounted noble; yet there seems to have been something
not ignoble in this romantic quest for illimitable gold. There is a magic
in the mere idea of the yellow metal, apart from such practical or
luxurious uses as it may subserve; it stood for power and splendor
--whatever good the men of that age were prone to appreciate. Howbeit, the
strongest and bravest of all lands were drawn together in the search; and
inevitably they met and clashed. Foremost among the antagonists were Spain
and England. The ambition of Spain was measureless; she desired not only
the mastery of America and its riches, but the empire of the world, the
leadership in commerce, and the ownership of the very gates of Heaven.
England sought land and trade; she was practical and unromantic, but
strong and daring; and in her people, unlike the Spanish, were implanted
the seeds of human freedom. She had not as yet the prestige of Spain; but
men like Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh went far to win it;
moreover, the star of Spain had already begun to wane, while that of
England was waxing. Whenever, therefore, the strength of the two rivals
was fairly pitted, England had the better of the encounter. Spain might
dominate, for a while, the southern regions of the continent; and her
priests might thread the western wildernesses, and build white-walled
missions there; but to England should belong the Atlantic coast from
Labrador to Florida: the most readily accessible from Europe, and the best
adapted to bring forth that wealth for which gold must be given in
exchange. The struggle, as between the Spanish and the English, was
temporarily suspended, and it was with France that the latter now found
themselves confronted. The French had entered America by way of the St.
Lawrence, and down the Mississippi, in expectation, like the others, of
finding a passage through to India; they had planted colonies and
conciliated the Indians, and were destined to give England much more
trouble than her former foe had done. They, like the English, wished to
live in the new world; Spain's chief desire was to plunder it and take the
booty home with her. In the sequel, England was victorious; and thus
approved her right to be the nucleus of the Race of the Future. Finally,
it was to be her fate to fight that Race itself, and to be defeated by it;
and thus, as the chosen from the chosen, the inhabitants of the Thirteen
Colonies were to begin their career.

The birth of America must therefore be dated, not from the discovery of
the land, but from the culmination in revolt of the English Colonies. All
that preceded this was as the early and ambiguous processes of nature in
bringing forth the plant from the seed. Nature knows her work, and its
result; but the onlooker sees the result only. The Creator of man knew of
what a child America was to be the mother: but the world, intent upon its
selfish concerns, recognized it only when the consummation had been
reached. And even now she eyes us askance, and mutters doubts as to our
endurance and our legitimacy. But America is Europe's best and only
friend, and her political pattern must sooner or later, and more or less
exactly, be followed by all peoples. Democracy, however unwelcome in its
first and outward aspect it may appear, is the logical issue of human
experiments in government; it is susceptible of much abuse and open to
many corruptions; but these cannot penetrate far below the surface; they
are external and obvious, not vital and secret; because at heart the voice
of democracy is the voice of God. It may be silent for long, so that some
will disbelieve or despair, and say in their haste that democracy is a
fraud or a failure. But at last its tones will be heard, and its word will
be irresistible and immortal: the word of the Lord, uttering itself
through the mouth of His creatures.

The preliminary episodes and skirmishings, therefore, which went before
the spiritual self-consciousness of America, will be treated here in
outline only; only such events and persons as were the sources of
subsequent important conditions will be drawn in light and shadow. This
period of adventure and exploration is, it is true, rich in picturesque
characters and romantic incident, but they have little organic relation to
the history of the true America--which is the tracing of the development
and embodiment of an abstract idea. They belong to Europe, whose life was
present in them, though the men acted and the incidents occurred in a
strange environment. They are attractive subjects of study in themselves,
but have small pertinence to the present argument. Our aim will be to
maintain an organic coherency.

Still less can we linger in that impressive darkness before dawn which
prevailed upon the continent before the advent of Columbus. The mystery
which shrouds the origin and annals of the races which inhabited America
previous to the European invasion has been assiduously investigated, but
never dispelled. At first it was taken for granted that the "Indians," as
the red men were ignorantly called, were the aboriginal denizens of the
country. But the mounds, ruined cities, pottery and other remains since
found in all parts of the land, concerning which the Indians could furnish
no information, and which showed a state of civilization far in advance of
theirs, were proof that a great people had existed here in the remote
past, who had flourished and disappeared without leaving any trace whereby
they could be accounted for or identified. They are an enigma compared
with which the archeological problems of the Old World are an open book.
We can form no conception of the conditions under which they lived, of
their personal characteristics, of their language, habits, or religion. We
cannot determine whether these forerunners of the Indians were one people
in several stages of development, or several peoples in simultaneous
occupation of the land. We can establish no trustworthy connection between
them and any Asiatic races, and yet we are reluctant to believe them
isolated from the rest of mankind. If they had dwelt here from their
creation, why had they not progressed further in civilization?--and if
they emigrated hither from another continent, why do their remains not
indicate their source? By what agency did they perish, and when? The more
keenly we strive to penetrate their mystery, the more perplexing does it
appear; the further we investigate them, the more alien from anything we
are or have known do they seem. Elusive as mist, and questionable as
night, they form a suggestive background on which the vivid and energetic
drama of our novel civilization stands out in sharp relief.

Scarcely less mysterious--though living among us still--are the red men
whom we found here. They had no written languages or history; their
knowledge of their own past was confined to vague and fanciful traditions.
They were few in numbers, barbarous in condition, untamable in nature;
they built no cities and practiced no industries: their women planted
maize and performed all menial labors; their men hunted and fought. Before
we came, they fought one another; our coming did not unite them against a
common enemy; it only gave each of them one enemy the more. After an
intercourse of four hundred years, we know as little of them as we did at
first; we have neither educated, absorbed nor exterminated them. The
fashion of their faces, and some other indications, seem to point to a
northern Asiatic ancestry; but they cannot tell us even so much as we can
guess. There have been among them, now and again, men of commanding
abilities in war and negotiation; but their influence upon their people
has not lasted beyond their own lives. Amid the roar and fever of these
latter ages, they stand silent, useless, and apathetic. They belong to our
history only in so far as their savage and treacherous hostility
contributed to harden the fortitude of our earlier settlers, and to weld
them into a united people.

Posterity may resolve these obscurities; meanwhile they remain in
picturesque contrast to the merciless publicity of our own life, and the
scientific annihilation of time and distance. They are as the dark and
amorphous loam in which has taken root the Flower of the Ages. If extremes
must meet, it was fitting that the least and the most highly developed
examples of mankind should dwell side by side, at the close of the
nineteenth century, in a land to which neither is native: that Europe, the
child of Asia, should meet its prehistoric parent here, and work out its
destiny before her uncomprehending eyes. The world is an inn of strange
meetings; and this encounter is perhaps the strangest of all.

The most dangerous enemy of America has been--not Spain, France, England,
or any other nation in arms, but--our own material prosperity. The lessons
of adversity we took to heart, and they brought forth wholesome fruit,
purifying our blood and toughening our muscles. So long as the Spirit of
Liberty was threatened from without, she was safe and triumphant. But when
her foes abroad had ceased to harry her, a foe far more insidious began to
plot against her in her own house. The tireless energy and ingenuity which
are our most salient characteristics, and which had rendered us formidable
and successful on sea and land, were turned by peace into productive
channels. The enormous natural resources of the continent began to receive
development; men who under former conditions would have been admirals and
generals, now became leaders in commerce, manufactures and finance; they
made great fortunes, and set up standards of emulation other than
patriotism and public spirit. Like the old Spanish and English
adventurers, they sought for gold, and held all other things secondary to
that. An anomalous oligarchy sprang into existence, holding no ostensible
political or social sway, yet influential in both directions by virtue of
the power of money. Money can be possessed by the evil as well as by the
good, and it can be used to tempt the good to condone evil. The exalted
maxim of human equality was interpreted to mean that all Americans could
be rich; and the spectacle was presented of a mighty and generous nation
fighting one another for mere material wealth. Inevitably, the lower and
baser elements of the population came to the surface and seemed to rule;
the ordinary citizen, on whom the welfare of the State depends, allowed
his private business interest to wean him from the conduct of public
affairs, which thereby fell into the hands of professional politicians,
who handled them for their personal gain instead of for the common weal.
We forgot that pregnant saying, "Eternal vigilance is the price of
liberty," and suffered ourselves to be persuaded that because our written
Constitution was a wise and patriotic document, we were forever safe even
from the effects of our own selfishness and infidelity. As some men are
more skillful and persistent manipulators of money than others, it
happened that the capital of the country became massed in one place and
was lacking in another; the numbers of the poor, and of paupers,
increased; and the rich were able to control their political action and
sap their self-respect by dominating the employment market. "Do my
bidding, or starve," is a cogent argument; it should never be in the power
of any man to offer it; but it was heard over the length and breadth of
free America. The efforts of laboring men, by organization, to check the
power of capitalists, was met by the latter with organizations of their
own, which, in the form of vast "trusts" and otherwise, deprived small
manufacturers and traders of the power of independent self-support.
Strikes and lockouts were the natural outcome of such a situation; and the
sinister prospect loomed upon us of labor and capital arrayed against each
other in avowed hostility.

Danger from this cause, however, is more apparent than actual. The
remedy, in the last resort, is always in ourselves. Laws as to land and
contracts may be modified, but the true cure for all such injuries and
inequalities is to cease to regard the amassing of "fortunes" as the most
desirable end in life. The land is capable of supporting in comfort far
more than its present population; ignorance or selfish disregard of the
true principles of economy have made it seem otherwise. The proper state
of every man is that of a producer; the craving of individuals to own what
they have not fairly earned and cannot usefully administer, is vain and
disorderly. Men will always be born who have the genius of management; and
others who require to have their energies directed; some can profitably
control resources which to others would be a mischievous burden. But this
truth does not involve any extravagant discrepancy in the private means
and establishments of one or the other; each should have as much as his
needs, intelligence and taste legitimately warrant, and no more. Such
matters will gradually adjust themselves, once the broad underlying
principle has been accepted. Meanwhile we may remember that national
health is not always synonymous with peace. It was the warning of our Lord
--"I am not come to bring peace? but a sword." The war which is waged with
powder and ball is often less contrary to true peace than the war which
exists while all the outward semblances of peace are maintained. We must
not be misled by names. America is perhaps too prone to regard herself in
a passive light, as the refuge merely of the oppressed and needy; but she
has an active mission too. She stands for so much that is contrary to the
ideas that have hitherto ruled the world that she can hardly hope to avoid
the hostility, and possibly the attacks, of the representatives of the old
order. These, she must be able and ready to repel. We have freely shed our
blood for our own freedom; and we should not forget that, though charity
begins at home, it need not end there. We should not interpret too
strictly the maxims which admonish us to mind our own housekeeping, and to
avoid entanglements with the quarrels or troubles of our neighbors. We
should not say to the tide of our liberties, Thus far shalt thou go, and
no further. America is not a geographical expression, and arbitrary
geographical boundaries should not be permitted to limit the area which
her principles control. We, who seek to bind the other nations to
ourselves by ties of commerce, should recognize the obligations of other
ties, whose value cannot be expressed in money.

America wears her faults upon her forehead, not in her heart; her history
is just beginning; she herself dreams not yet what her ultimate destiny
will be. But so far as her brief past may serve as a key wherewith to open
the future? a study of it will not be idle.



CHAPTER FIRST

COLUMBUS, RALEIGH AND SMITH


The records will have it that America was discovered in consequence of
the desire of Europe to profit by the commerce of Cathay, which had
hitherto reached them only by the long and expensive process of a journey
due west. One caravan had passed on the spices and other valuables to
another, until they reached the Mediterranean. It was asked whether the
trip could not be more quickly and cheaply made by sea. Assuming, as was
generally done, that the earth was flat, why might not a man sail round
the southern extremity of Africa, and up the other side to the Orient? It
was true that the extremity of Africa might extend to the Southern ice, in
which case this plan would not serve; but the attempt might be worth
making. This was the view of Henry of Portugal, a scientific and ingenious
prince, whose life covered the first sixty years of the Fifteenth Century.
And Portuguese mariners did accordingly sail their little ships far down
the Atlantic coast of the Dark Continent; but they did not venture quite
far enough until long after good Prince Henry was dead, and Columbus had
(in his own belief) pioneered a shorter way.

Columbus was a theorist and a visionary. Many men who have been able to
show much more plausible grounds for their theories than he could for his
have died the laughing-stock of the world. Columbus was a laughing-stock
for nearly twenty years; but though the special application of his theory
was absurdly wrong, yet in principle it chanced to be right; and he was so
fortunate as to be empowered to bring it to a practical demonstration. His
notion was that the earth was not flat, but round. Therefore the quickest
route to the extreme East must be in exactly the opposite direction; the
globe, he estimated, could not be much over fifteen thousand miles in
girth; Cathay, by the land route, was twelve thousand miles or so east of
Europe; consequently the distance west could not be more than three
thousand. This could be sailed over in a month or two, and the saving in
time and trouble would be immense.--Thus did he argue--shoving the
Atlantic into the Pacific Ocean, subtracting six or seven thousand miles
from their united breadth, and obliterating entirely that western
continent which he was fated to discover, though he was never to suspect
its existence.

The heresy that the earth was a sphere had long been in existence;
Aristotle being the earliest source to which it could be traced. Sensible
people did not countenance it then, any more than they accept to-day the
conjecture that other planets than this may be inhabited. They
demonstrated its improbability on historical and religious grounds, and
also made the point that, supposing it were round, and that Columbus were
to sail down the under side of it, he would never be able to climb back
again. But the Genoese was a man who became more firmly wedded to his
opinion in proportion as it met with ridicule and opposition; proofs he
had none of the truth of his pet idea; but he clung to it with a
doggedness which must greatly have exasperated his interlocutors. By dint
of sheer persistence, he almost persuaded some men that there might be
something in his project; but he never brought any of them to the pitch of
risking money on it. It was only upon a woman that he was finally able to
prevail; and doubtless the intelligence of Isabella of Castile was less
concerned in the affair than was her feminine imagination. Had she known
more, she would have done less. But so, for that matter, would Columbus.

Almost as little is known of the personal character of this man as of
Shakespeare's; and the portraits of him, though much more numerous than
those of the poet, are even less compatible with one another. The
estimates and conjectures of historians also differ; some describe a pious
hero and martyr, others a dissolute adventurer and charlatan. We are
constrained, in the end, to construct his effigy from our own best
interpretation of the things he did. Some little learning he had; just
enough, probably, to disturb the balance of his judgment. He could read
Latin and make maps, and he had ample experience of practical navigation.
His life as a mariner got him the habit of meditation, and this favored
the espousal of theories, which, upon occasion, he could expound with
volubility or defend with passion, as his Italian temperament prompted.
His imagination was portentous, and the Fifteenth Century was hospitable
to this faculty; there was nothing--except plain but unknown facts--too
marvelous to be believed; and that Columbus was even more credulous than
his contemporaries is proved by the evidence that even facts were not
exempt from his entertainment. An ordinary appetite for the marvelous
could swallow stories of chimeras dire, and men whose heads do grow
beneath their shoulders; but nothing short of the profligate capacity of a
Columbus could digest such a proposition as that the earth was round and
could be circumnavigated. The type of half-educated fanatics to which he
belonged has always been common; there is nothing exceptional or
remarkable in this fanatic except the fortune which finally attended his
lifelong devotion to the most improbable hypothesis of his time. It has
been our custom to eulogize his courage and his constancy to the truth;
but if he had adopted perpetual motion, instead of the rotundity of the
earth, as his dogma, he would have deserved our praises just as much. His
sole claim to our admiration is, that in the teeth of all precedent and
likelihood, he succeeded by one mistake in making another: because he
fancied that by sailing west he could find the Indies, he blundered upon a
land whose identity he never discovered. Doubtless his blunder was of
unspeakable value; but a blunder not the less it was; while as to his
courage and perseverance, as much has been shown by a thousand other
scientific and philosophical heretics, whose names have not survived,
because the thing they imagined turned out an error.

From another point of view, however, Columbus is specially a creature of
his age. It was an age which felt, it knew not why, that something new
must come to pass. The resources of Europe were exhausted; men had reached
the end of their tether, and demanded admittance to some wider pasturage.
It was much such a predicament as obtains now, four hundred years later;
we feel that changes--enlargements--are due, but know not what or whence.
The conception of a voyage across the Atlantic, in that age, seemed as
captivating, and almost as fantastic, as a trip to the Moon or Mars would,
to an adventurer of our time. Given the vehicle, no doubt many volunteers
would offer for the journey; Columbus could get a ship, but the chances of
his arriving at his proposed destination must have appeared as
problematical to him as the Moon enterprise in a balloon would to a
world-weary globe-trotter of to-day. It was not merely that the ship was
small and the Atlantic large and stormy; there were legends of vast
whirlpools, of abysmal oceanic cataracts, of sea-monsters, malignant
genii, and other portents not less terrifying and fatal. Columbus would
not have been surprised at falling in with any of these things; but the
physical courage which must have been his most prominent trait, added to
incorrigible pride of opinion, brought him through.

But the significant feature of his achievement is, not that he sailed or
that he arrived, but that he was impelled, irresistibly as it were, to
make the attempt. He made it, because it was the one thing left in the
world that seemed worth doing; it was the only apparent way of escape from
the despair of the familiar and habitual; it was an adventure charged with
all unknown possibilities; once conceived, it must be executed at whatever
cost. Columbus was fascinated; the unknown drew him like a magnet; he was
the involuntary deputy of his period to incarnate its yearnings in act.
The hour had struck; and with it, as always, appeared the man. So it has
ever been in the history of the world; though we, with characteristic
vanity, uniformly put the cart before the horse, and declare that it is
the man that brings the hour.

Be that as it may, Columbus was fitted out with three boats by the
Spanish king and queen, set sail from Spain on the 3d of August, 1492, and
arrived at one of the Caribbean islands on the 12th of October of the same
year. He supposed that he had found an East Indian archipelago; and with
the easy emotional piety of his time and temperament, he fell on his knees
and thanked God, and took possession of everything in sight in the name of
Ferdinand and Isabella.

The deed had been done, and Columbus had his reward. It would have been
well for him had he recognized this fact, and not tried to get more. He
had found land on the other side of the Atlantic; what no other man had
believed possible, he had accomplished; he had carried his point, and
proved his thesis--or one so much resembling it that he never knew the
difference. This, and not a more sordid hope, had been the real motive
power of his career up to this time; and the moment when the light from
another world gleamed across the water to his hungry eyes had been the
happiest that he had ever known, or would know. A mighty hope had been
fulfilled; the longing of an age had been gratified in his triumph; a
fresh chapter in the world's history had been begun. The thoughts and
emotions that surged through the ardent Italian, as he knelt on that coral
beach, were lofty and unselfish; as were, in truth, those of the age whose
representative he was, when it saw him depart on his adventure. But before
the man of destiny had risen from his knees, he had ceased to act as the
instrument of God, and had begun to think of personal emoluments. So much
he must make over to Spain; so much he might keep for himself; so much was
promised to his shipmates. He would be famous--yes: and rich and powerful
too; he would be a great vicegerent; his attire should be of silk and
velvet, with a gold chain about his neck, and gems on his hands. So
adversity set his name among the stars, and prosperity abased his soul to
dust. The remaining years of his life were a fruitless struggle to secure
what he deemed his rightful wages--to coin his immortal exploit into
ducats; and his end was sorrowful and dishonored. The proud
self-abnegation of the ancient Roman was lacking in the medieval Genoese.

The white-maned horses of the Atlantic once mastered, there came riders
enough. During the next thirty years such men as Amerigo Vespucci (who
enjoyed the not singular distinction of having his name associated with
the discovery of another man), the Cabots, father and son; Balboa, and
Magellan, crossed the sea and visited the new domain. Magellan performed
the only unprecedented feat left for mariners by sailing round the earth
by way of the South American straits that bear his name; but Vasco da Gama
had already entered the Pacific by the Cape of Good Hope. It was by this
time beginning to be understood that the new land was really new, and not
the other side of the old one; but this only prompted the adventurers to
get past or through it to the first goal of their ambition. They had not
yet realized the vastness of the Pacific, and took America to be a mere
breakwater protecting the precious shores of Cathay. Later, they found
that America repaid looting on her own account; but meanwhile there was
set on foot that search for the Northwest Passage which resulted in the
discovery of almost everything except the Passage itself. To the craze for
a Northwest Passage is due the exploration of Baffin's and Hudson's Bays,
of the Gulf and River of St. Lawrence, and of the Great Lakes; the
establishment of the English and French fur-trading Companies, which
hastened the development of Canada; and the settlement of Oregon and
Washington. It led English and Spanish explorers and freebooters up the
California coast, and on to Vancouver and Bering Straits; Alaska was
circumvented, and the Northwest Passage was found, though the everlasting
ice mocked the efforts of the finders. In short, the entire continent was
tapped and sounded with a view to forcing a way through or round it; and
by the time the attempt was finally given up, the contour, size, and
possible value of America had been estimated much more quickly and
accurately than they would have been, had not India lain west of it.

All this time Spain had been having the best of the bargain. She had
fastened upon the West Indies, Mexico, and Central and South America, and
had found gold there in abundance; she bade other nations keep hands off,
and was less solicitous than they about the rumored riches of the Orient.
Spain, in those days, was held to be invincible on the sea; England's
fight with the Spanish Armada was yet to come. But there were already
Englishmen of the Drake and Frobisher type who liked nothing better than
to capture a Spanish galleon, and "singe the king of Spain's beard"; and
these independent sea-rovers were becoming so bold and numerous as to put
the Spaniards to serious inconvenience and loss. But the latter could not
be ousted from their vantage ground; so the English presently bethought
themselves that there might be gold in the more northerly as well as in
the central parts of the Continent; and they turned to seek it there.
Nothing is more noticeable in every phase of these events than the
constant involuntary accomplishment of something other--and in the end
better--than the thing attempted. As Columbus, looking for Indian spices,
found America; as seekers of all nations, in their quest for a Northwest
Passage, charted and developed the continent: so Sir Walter Raleigh and
his companions, hunting for gold along the northern Atlantic seaboard,
took the first steps toward founding the colonies which were in the sequel
to constitute the germ of the present United States.

Queen Elizabeth was on the throne of England; more than ninety years had
passed since Columbus had landed on his Caribbean island. In 1565 a colony
of French Huguenots at St. Augustine had, by a characteristic act of
Spanish treachery, been massacred, men, women, and children, at the order
of Melendez, and the French thus wiped out of the southern coast of North
America forever. While England remained Catholic, the influence of Papal
bulls in favor of Spanish authority in America, and matrimonial alliances
between the royal families of Spain and England, had restrained English
enterprise in the west. Henry VIII. had indeed acted independently both of
the Spaniard and of the Pope; but it was not until Elizabeth's accession
in 1558, bringing Protestantism with her, that England ventured to assert
herself as a nation in the new found world. Willoughby had attempted, in
1553, the preposterous enterprise of reaching India by sailing round
Norway and the north of Asia; but his expedition got no farther than the
Russian port of Archangel. In 1576 and the two succeeding years, Martin
Frobisher went on voyages to Labrador and neighboring regions, at first
searching for the Northwest Passage, afterward in quest of gold. The only
result of his efforts was the bringing to England of some shiploads of
earth, which had been erroneously supposed to contain the precious metal.
In 1578, Sir Humphrey Gilbert had obtained a patent empowering him to
found a colony somewhere in the north; his object being rather to develop
the fisheries than to find gold or routes to India. He was stepbrother of
Sir Walter Raleigh, and the latter started with him on the first voyage;
but they were forced to put back soon after setting out. Gilbert went
again in 1583, and reached St. John's, where he erected a pillar
commemorating the English occupation; but he was drowned in a storm on the
way home. Raleigh, who had stayed in England, and had acquired royal favor
and a fortune, remained to carry out, in his own way, the designs which
Gilbert's death had left in suspense. In 1584 he began the work.

Raleigh perhaps deserves to be regarded as the greatest English gentleman
who ever lived. In addition to the learning of his time, he had a towering
genius, indomitable courage and constancy, lofty and generous principles,
far-seeing wisdom, Christian humanity, and a charity that gave and forgave
to the end. He was a courtier and a statesman, a soldier and a sailor, a
merchant and an explorer. His life was one of splendid and honorable
deeds; he was not a talker, and found scant leisure to express himself in
writing; though when he chose to write poetry he approved himself best in
the golden age of English literature; and his "History of the World,"
composed while imprisonment in the Tower prevented him from pursuing more
active employments, is inferior to no other produced up to that time. Such
reverses as he met with in life only spurred him to fresh efforts, and his
successes were magnificent, and conducive to the welfare of the world. He
was a patriot of the highest and purest type; a champion of the oppressed;
a supporter of all worthy enterprises, a patron of literature and art.
Withal, he was full of the warm blood of human nature; he had all the
fire, the tenderness, and the sympathies that may rightly belong to a man.
The mind is astonished in contemplating such a being; he is at once so
close to us, and so much above the human average. King James I. of
England, jealous of his greatness, imprisoned him for twelve years, on a
groundless charge, and finally slew him, at the age of sixty-six, broken
by disease, and saddened, but not soured, by the monstrous ingratitude and
injustice of his treatment. Upon the scaffold, he felt of the edge of the
ax which was to behead him, and smiled, remarking, "A sharp medicine to
cure me of my diseases!" Such are the exploits of kings.

Raleigh was the first man who perceived that America was to be the home
of a white people: that it was to be a dwelling-place, not a mere
supply-house for freebooters and home traders. He resolved to do his part
toward making it so; he impoverished himself in the enterprise; and though
the colony which he planted in what is now North Carolina, but was then
called Virginia, in honor of the queen, who was pleased thus to advertise
her chastity--though this failed (by no fault of Raleigh's) of its
immediate object, yet the lesson thus offered bore fruit in due season,
and the colonization of the New World, shown to be a possibility and an
advantage, was taken up on the lines Raleigh had drawn, and resulted in
the settlement whose heirs we are.

In 1585, after receiving the favorable report of a preliminary
expedition, Raleigh sent out upward of a hundred colonists under the
command of Sir Richard Grenville, one of the heroic figures of the time, a
man of noble nature but fearful passions. They landed on the island of
Roanoke, off the mouth of the river of that name, and were well received
by the native tribes, who thought they were immortal and divine, because
they were without women, and possessed gunpowder. It would have been well
had the English responded in kind; but within a few days, Grenville, angry
at the non-production of a silver cup which had been stolen from his party
during a visit to a village, burned the huts and destroyed the crops; and
later, Lane, who had been left by Grenville in command of the colony,
invited the principal chief of the region to a friendly conference, and
murdered him. This method of procedure would not have been countenanced by
the great promoter of the expedition; nor would he have encouraged the
hunt for gold that was presently undertaken. This was the curse of the
time, and ever led to disaster and blood. Nor did Lane escape the delusion
that a passage could be found through the land to the Indies; the savages,
humoring his ignorance for their own purposes, assured him that the
Roanoke River (which rises some two hundred miles inland) communicated
with the Pacific at a distance of but a few days' journey. Lane selected a
party and set hopefully forth to traverse fifty degrees of latitude; but
ere long his provisions gave out, and he was forced to go starving back
again. He arrived at the settlement just in time to save it from
annihilation by the Indians.

But there were able men among these colonists, and some things were done
which were not foolish. Hariot, who had scientific knowledge, and was a
careful observer, made notes of the products of the land, and became
proficient in tobacco smoking; he also tested and approved the potato, and
in other ways laid the foundation for a profitable export and import
trade. John White, an artist, who afterward was put in charge of another
colony, made drawings of the natives and their appurtenances, which still
survive, and witness his fidelity and skill. Explorations up and down the
coast, and for some distance inland, were made; the salubrity of the
climate was eulogized, and it was admitted that the soil was of excellent
fertility. In short, nothing was lacking, in the way of natural
conditions, to make the colony a success; yet the Englishmen grew homesick
and despondent, and longed to return to England and English women. The
supplies which they were expecting from home had not arrived; and their
situation was rendered somewhat precarious, by the growing hostility of
the natives, who had come to the conclusion that these godlike white men
were not persons with whom it was expedient for them to associate.

At this juncture, down upon the coast suddenly swooped a fleet of over
twenty sail with the English flag flying, and no less a personage than Sir
Francis Drake in command. He was returning from a profitable pirating
expedition against the Spaniards in the West Indies, and desired to
see for himself how the colony sent out by his friend Raleigh was
prospering. Out of his easily-got abundance he generously supplied the
needs of the colonists, and presented them with a ship into the bargain,
in which they might sail home should circumstances demand it. A couple of
his most experienced officers, too, were added to the gift of the generous
freebooter; and the outlook was now very different from what it had been a
few days before. Yet fate was against them; or, to speak more accurately,
they had lost the spirit which should animate pioneers, and when a touch
of bad luck was added to their indisposition, they incontinently beat a
retreat. A storm arose, which wrecked the ship that Drake had given them,
and thus deprived them of the means of escape in case other disasters
should arrive. They besought Drake to take them home with him; and he,
with inexhaustible good humor, agreed to do so. His fleet, with the
slack-souled colonists on board, had scarcely lost sight of the low shores
of Roanoke, when the supply ship that had been so long awaited arrived
with all the requisites for subduing the wilderness on board. She found
the place deserted, and, putting about, sailed for home again. A fortnight
later came Sir Richard Grenville with three ships more; and he, being of a
persistent nature, would not consent to lose altogether the fruit of the
efforts which had been made; he left fifteen of his men on the island, to
carry on until fresh colonists could be brought from England. But before
this could be done the men were dead, whether by the act of God or of the
savages; and the first English experience in colonizing America was at an
end.

The story of the second colony, immediately sent out by Raleigh, ends
with a mystery that probably hid a tragedy. Seventeen women and two
children accompanied the eighty-nine men of the party. Having established
the fact that the land was habitable and cultivatable, Raleigh perceived
that in order to render it attractive also it was necessary that the
colonists should have their helpmeets with them. For the first time in
history, therefore, the feet of English women pressed our soil, and the
voices of children made music in the woodland solitudes. It had been
designed that the more commodious bay of the Chesapeake should be the
scene of this settlement; but the naval officer who should have
superintended the removal was hungering for a West Indian trading venture,
and declined to act. They perforce established themselves in the old spot,
therefore, where the buildings were yet standing on the northern end of
the little island, which, though deserted now, is for us historic ground.
The routine of life began; and before the ship sailed on her return trip
to England, the daughter of the governor and artist, John White, who was
married to one of his subordinates named Dare, had given birth to a
daughter, and called her Virginia. She was the first child of English
blood who could be claimed as American; she came into the world, from
which she was so soon to vanish, on the 18th of August, 1587. White
returned to England with the ship a week or two later. He was to return
again speedily with more colonists, and further supplies. But he never saw
his daughter and her infant after their farewell in the landlocked bay. He
reached England to find Raleigh and all the other strong men of England
occupied with plans to repel the invasion that threatened from Spain, and
which, in the shape of the Invincible Armada, was to be met and destroyed
in the English Channel, almost on the first anniversary of the birth of
Virginia Dare. Nothing could be done, at the moment, to relieve the people
at Roanoke; but in April of 1588, Raleigh found time, with the defense of
a kingdom on his hands, to equip two ships and send them in White's charge
to Virginia. All might have been well had White been content to attend
with a single eye to the business in hand; but the seas were full of
vessels which could be seized and stripped of their precious cargoes, and
White thought it would be profitable to imitate the exploits of Drake and
Grenville, and take a few prizes to Roanoke with him. But he was the ass
in the lion's hide. One of his ships was itself attacked and gutted, and
with the other he fled in terror back to London. Raleigh could not help
him now; his own fortune was exhausted; and it was not until the Armada
had come and gone, and the country had in a measure recovered itself from
the shocks of war, that succor could be attempted. The charter which had
been granted to Raleigh enabled him to give liberal terms to a company of
merchants and others, who on their part could raise the funds for the
voyage. But though Raleigh executed this patent in the spring of 1589, it
was not until more than a year afterward that the expedition was ready to
sail. White went with them, and we may imagine with what straining eyes he
scanned the spot where he had last beheld his daughter and grandchild, as
the ship glided up the inlet.

But no one came forth between the trees to wave a greeting to his
long-deferred return; there were no figures on the shore, no smoke of
family fires rose heavenward; families and hearths alike were gone. The
place was a desert. Little Virginia Dare and the Lost Colony of Roanoke
had already passed out of history, leaving no clew to their fate except
the single word "CROATAN" inscribed on the bark of a tree. It was the name
of an island further down the coast; and had White gone thither, he might
even yet have found the lost. But he was a man unfitted in all respects to
live in that age and take part in its enterprise. He was a soft, feeble,
cowardly and unfaithful creature, yet vain and ambitious, and eager to
share the fame of men immeasurably larger and worthier than he. He could
draw pictures, but he could not do deeds; and now, after having deserted
those to whom he had been in honor bound to cleave, he pleaded the excuse
of bad weather and the lateness of the season for abandoning them once
more; and, re-embarking on his ship, he went back with all his company to
England. It was the dastardly ending of the first effort, nobly conceived,
and supported through five years, to engraft the English race in the soil
of America.

Tradition hazards the conjecture that the Roanoke colony, or some of
them, were cared for by the friendly Indians of Hatteras. There was a
rumor that seven of them were still living twenty years after White's
departure. But no certain news was ever had of them, though several later
attempts to trace them were made. Between the time when their
faint-hearted governor had deserted them, and his return, three years had
passed; and if they were not early destroyed by the hostile tribes, they
must have endured a more lingering pain in hoping against hope for the
white sails that never rose above the horizon. Most of them, if not all,
were doubtless massacred by the Indians, if not at once, then when it
became evident that no succor was to be expected for them. Some, possibly,
were carried into captivity; and it may be that Virginia Dare herself grew
up to become the white squaw of an Indian brave, and that her blood still
flows in the veins of some unsuspected red man. But it is more likely that
she died with the others, one of the earliest and most innocent of the
victims sacrificed on the altar of a great idea.

White disappears from history at this point; but Raleigh never forgot his
colony, and five times, at his own expense, and in the midst of events
that might have monopolized the energies of a score of ordinary men, he
dispatched expeditions to gain tidings of them. In 1595 he himself sailed
for Trinidad, on the northern coast of South America, and explored the
river Orinoco, nine degrees above the equator, It was his hope to offset
the power of Spain in Mexico and Peru by establishing an English colony in
Guiana. Wars claimed his attention during the next few years, and then
came his long imprisonment; but in 1616, two years before his execution,
he headed a last expedition to the southern coast of the land he had
labored so faithfully to unite to England. It failed of its object, and
Raleigh lost his head.

But the purpose which he had steadfastly entertained did not die with
him; and we Americans claim him to-day as the first friend and father of
the conception of a great white people beyond the sea.

As we enter the Seventeenth Century, the figure which looms largest in
the foreground is that of Captain John Smith, governor of the colony at
Jamestown in 1607. But the way was prepared for him by a man as honorable,
though less distinguished, Bartholomew Gosnold by name, who voyaged to the
New England coast in 1602, and was the first to set foot on its shores.
The first land he sighted was what is now called Maine; thence he steered
southward, and disembarked on Cape Cod, on which he bestowed that name.
Proceeding yet further south, between the islands off the coast, he
finally entered the inclosed sound of Buzzard's Bay, and landed on the
island of Cuttyhunk. Gosnold was a prudent as well as an adventurous man,
and he was resolved to take all possible precautions against being
surprised by the Indians. On Cuttyhunk there was a large pond, and in the
pond there was an islet; and Gosnold, with his score of followers, fixed
upon this speck of rocky earth as the most suitable spot in the western
hemisphere wherein to plant the roots of English civilization. They built
a hut and made a boat, and gathered together their stores of furs and
sassafras; but these same stores proved their undoing. They could not
agree upon an equable division of their wealth; and recognizing that
disunion in a strange land was weakness and peril, they all got into their
ship and sailed back to England, carrying their undivided furs and
sassafras with them. By this mishap, New England missed becoming the scene
of the first permanent English colony. For when, five years afterward,
Gosnold returned to America with a hundred men and adequate supplies, it
was not to Buzzard's Bay, but to the mouth of the James River, that he
steered, and on its banks the colony was founded. Gosnold himself seems to
have been a man of the type that afterward made the New England whalers
famous in all seas; the mariners of New Bedford, New London, Sag Harbor
and Nantucket. But the companions of his second voyage were by no means of
this stamp: the bulk of them were "gentlemen," who had no familiarity with
hard fare and hard work, and expected nature to provide for them in the
wilderness as bountifully as the London caterers had done at home. To the
accident which brought Gosnold to a southerly instead of a northerly port
on this occasion may be due the fact that Virginia instead of
Massachusetts became the home of the emigrant cavaliers. Had they, as well
as the Puritans, chosen New England for their abiding place, an
amalgamation might have taken place which would have vitally modified
later American history. But destiny kept them apart in place as well as in
sentiment and training; and it is only in our own day that Reconstruction,
and the development of means of intercommunication, bid fair to make a
homogeneous people out of the diverse elements which for so many
generations recognized at most only an outward political bond.

Captain John Smith, fortunately, was neither a cavalier nor a simple
mariner, but a man in a class by himself, and just at that juncture the
most useful that could possibly have been attached to this adventure. His
career even before the present period had been so romantic that, partly
for that reason, and partly because he himself was his own chief
chronicler, historians have been prone to discredit or modify many of its
episodes. But what we know of Smith from other than a Smith source tallies
so well with the stories which rest upon his sole authority that there
seems to be no sound cause for rejecting the latter. After making all
deductions, he remains a remarkable personage, and his influence upon the
promotion of the English colonial scheme was wholly beneficial. He was
brave, ingenious, indefatigable, prudent and accomplished; he knew what
should be done, and was ever foremost in doing it He took hold of the
helpless and slow-witted colonists as a master carpenter handles blocks of
wood, and transformed them into an efficient and harmonious structure,
strong enough to withstand the first onsets of misfortune, and to endure
until the arrival of recruits from home placed them beyond all danger of
calamity.

Smith was born in England in 1579, and was therefore only twenty-eight
years of age when he embarked with Gosnold. Yet he had already fought in
the Netherlands, starved in France, and been made a galley-slave by the
Moslem. He had been shipwrecked at one time, thrown overboard at another,
and robbed at a third. Thrice had he met and slain Turkish champions in
the lists; and he had traversed the steppes of Russia with only a handful
of grain for food. He was not a man of university education: the only
schooling he had had was in the free schools of Alford and Louth, before
his fifteenth year; his father was a tenant farmer in Lincolnshire, and
though John was apprenticed to a trade, he ran away while a mere
stripling, and shifted for himself ever after. An adventurer, therefore,
in the fullest sense of the word, he was; and doubtless he had the
appreciation of his own achievements which self-made men are apt to have.
But there was sterling pith in him, a dauntless and humane soul, and
inexhaustible ability and resource. Such a man could not fail to possess
imagination, and imagination and self-esteem combined conduce to
highly-colored narrative; but that Smith was a liar is an unwarranted
assumption, which will not be countenanced here.

The Gosnold colony had provided itself with a charter, granted by King
James, and as characteristic of that monarch as was his treatment of
Raleigh. It was the first of many specimens of absentee landlordism from
which America was to suffer. It began by setting apart an enormous stretch
of territory, bounded on the north by the latitude of the St. Croix River,
and on the south by that of Cape Fear, and extending westward
indefinitely. To this domain was given the general title of Virginia. It
was subdivided into two approximately equal parts, with a neutral zone
between them, which covered the space now occupied by the cities of New
York, Philadelphia, and Washington, and the land adjoining them. The
northern division was given in charge to the "Plymouth Company," and the
southern to the "London Company"; they were separate mercantile and
colonizing organizations, but the charter applied to both alike.

The colonies were to be under the immediate control of a council composed
of residents, but appointed by the king; this council was subordinate to
another, meeting in England; and this in its turn was subject to the
king's absolute authority. The emigrants were to pay a yearly rent of
one-fifth of the gold and silver produced, and a third as much of the
copper. A five per cent duty levied on alien traffic was for the first
five-and-twenty years to inure to the benefit of the colony, but afterward
should be the exclusive perquisite of the Crown. The right to call
themselves and their children English was permitted to the emigrants; and
they were also allowed to defend themselves against attacks, though it was
enjoined upon them to treat the natives with kindness, and to endeavor to
draw them into the fold of the Church.

Such was James's idea of what a charter for an American colony should be.
He was taking much for granted when he assumed the right to control the
emigrants at all; and he was careful to deprive them of any chance to
control in the least degree their own affairs. America was to be the abode
of liberty; but this monarch thought only of making it a field for his
private petty tyranny. The colonists were to be his own personal slaves,
and the deputy slaves of the Companies; after discharging all their
obligations to him and to them, they might do the best they could for
themselves with what was left, provided of course that they strictly
observed the laws which his Majesty was kind enough also to draw up for
them, the provisions of which included the penalty of death for most
offenses above petty larceny. A colony which, amid the hardships and
unfamiliar terrors of a virgin wilderness, could enjoy all the benefits of
a charter like this, and yet survive, would seem hardy enough for any
emergency. But James was king, and kings, in those days, if they pleased
no one else, pleased themselves.

As we have seen, the members of the colony, being persons unused to the
practice of the useful arts, were little apt to succeed even under the
most favoring conditions. But they had Smith, in himself a host, and a few
other good heads and able hands; and to speak truth, the provisions of
their charter do not seem to have unduly embarrassed them. It could annoy
and hamper them occasionally, but only themselves could work themselves
serious injury; there were three thousand miles of perilous sea water
between their paternal monarch and them, and the wilderness, with all its
drawbacks, breeds self-confidence and independence. The mishaps of the
colony were due to the shiftlessness of most of its members, and to the
insalubrity of the site chosen for their city of Jamestown, whereby more
than half of them perished during the first few months. On the voyage out,
Smith, who had probably made himself distasteful to the gentlemen
adventurers by his unconventional manners and conversation, had been
placed under restraint--to what extent is not exactly known; and when the
sealed orders under which they had sailed were opened, and it was found
that Smith was named a member of the council, he was for some weeks not
permitted to exercise his lawful functions in that office. When the
troubles began, however, the helpless gentlemen were glad to avail
themselves of his services, which he with his customary good humor readily
accorded them; and so competent did he show himself that ere long he was
in virtual command of them all. The usual search for gold and for the
passage through the continent to India having been made, with the usual
result, they all set to work to build their fort and town, and to provide
food against the not improbable contingency of famine. As crops could not
be raised for the emergency, Smith set out to traffic with the natives,
and brought back corn enough for the general need. All this while he had
been contending with a prevalent longing on the part of the colonists to
get back to England; there was no courage left in them but his, which
abounded in proportion to their need for it. Prominent among the
malcontents was the deposed governor, Wingfield, who tried to bribe the
colonists to return; another member of the council was shot for mutiny. In
the end, Smith's will prevailed, and he was governor and council and King
James all in one; and when, at the beginning of winter, he had brought the
settlement to order and safety, he started on a journey of exploration up
the Chickahominy. He perceived the immense importance of understanding his
surroundings, and at the same time of establishing friendly relations with
the neighboring tribes of Indians; and it was obvious that none but he
(for the excellent Gosnold had died of fever in the first months of the
settlement) was capable of effecting these objects. Accordingly he
proceeded prosperously toward the headwaters of the river, a dozen miles
above its navigable point; but there, all at once, he found himself in the
midst of a throng of frowning warriors, who were evidently resolved to put
an end to his investigations, if not to his existence, forthwith.

Another man than Smith would have committed some folly or rashness which
would have precipitated his fate; but Smith was as much at his ease as was
Julius Caesar of old on the pirate's ship. His two companions were killed,
but he was treated as a prisoner of rank and importance by the brother of
the great chief Powhatan, by whom he had been captured. He interested and
impressed his captors by his conversation and his instruments; and at the
same time he kept his eyes and ears open, and missed no information that
could be of use to himself and his colony. Powhatan gave him an audience
and seems to have adopted a considerate attitude; at all events he sent
him back to Jamestown after a few days, unharmed, and escorted by four
Indians, with a supply of corn. But precisely what occurred during those
few days we shall never certainly know; since we must choose between
accepting Smith's unsupported story, only made public years afterward, and
believing nothing at all. Smith's tale has charmed the imagination of all
who have heard it; nothing could be more prettily romantic; the trouble
with it is, it seems to most people too pretty and romantic to be true.
Yet it is simple enough in itself, and not at all improbable; there is no
question as to the reality of the dramatis personae of the story, and
their relations one to another render such an episode as was alleged
hardly more than might reasonably be looked for.

The story is--as all the world knows, for it has been repeated all over
the world for nearly three hundred years, and has formed the subject of
innumerable pictures--that Powhatan, for reasons of high policy
satisfactory to himself, had determined upon the death of the Englishman,
rightly inferring that the final disappearance of the colony would be the
immediate sequel thereof. The sentence was that Smith's brains were to be
knocked out with a bludgeon; and he was led into the presence of the chief
and the warriors, and ordered to lay his head upon the stone. He did so,
and the executioners poised their clubs for the fatal blow; but it never
fell. For Smith, during his captivity, had won the affection of the little
daughter of Powhatan, a girl of ten, whose name was Pocahontas. She was
too young to understand or fear his power over the Indians; but she knew
that he was a winning and fascinating being, and she could not endure that
he should be sacrificed. Accordingly, at this supreme crisis of his career,
she slipped into the dreadful circle, and threw herself upon Smith's
body, so that the blow which was aimed at his life must kill her first.
She clung to him and would not be removed, until her father had promised
that Smith should be spared.

So runs the Captain's narrative, published for the first time in 1624,
after Pocahontas's appearance in London, and her death in 1617. Why he had
not told it before is difficult to explain. Perhaps he had promised
Powhatan to keep it secret, lest the record of his sentimental clemency
should impair his authority over the tribes. Or it may have been an
embellishment of some comparatively trifling incident of Smith's
captivity, suggested to his mind as he was compiling his "General History
of Virginia." It can never be determined; but certainly his relations with
the Indian girl were always cordial, and it seems unlikely that Powhatan
would have permitted him to return to Jamestown except for some unusual
reason.

Pocahontas's life had vicissitudes such as seldom befall an Indian
maiden. Some time between the Smith episode of 1607, and the year 1612,
she married one of her father's tributary chiefs, and went to live with
him on his reservation. There she was in some manner kidnapped by one
Samuel Argall, and held for ransom. The ransom was paid, but Pocahontas
was not sent back; and the following year she was married to John Rolfe, a
Jamestown colonist, and baptized as Rebecca. He took her to London, where
she was a nine days' wonder; and they had a son, whose blood still flows
in not a few American veins to-day. If she was ten years old in 1607, he
must have been no more than twenty at the time of her death in Gravesend,
near London. But her place in American history is secure, as well as in
the hearts of all good Americans. She was the heroine of the first
American romance; and she is said to have been as beautiful as all our
heroines should rightly be.

When Smith, with his Indian escort, got back to Jamestown, he was just in
season to prevent the colony from running away in the boat. Soon after a
new consignment of emigrants and supplies arrived from England; but again
there were fewer men than gentlemen, and Smith sent back a demand for
"rather thirty carpenters, husbandmen, gardeners, fishermen, blacksmiths,
masons, and diggers up of trees' roots, well provided, than a thousand of
such as we have." There spoke the genuine pioneer, whose heart is in his
work, and who can postpone "gentility" until it grows indigenously out of
the soil. The Company at home were indignant that their colony had not ere
now reimbursed them for their expenditure, and much more; and they sent
word that unless profits were forthcoming forthwith (one-fifth of the gold
and silver, and so forth) they would abandon the colony to its fate. One
cannot help admiring Smith for refraining from the obvious rejoinder that
to be abandoned was the dearest boon that they could crave; but a sense of
humor seems to have been one of the few good qualities which the Captain
did not possess. He intimated to the Company that money was not to be
picked up ready made in Virginia, but must be earned by hard work with
hands and heads in the field and forest. It is his distinction to have
been the first man of eminence visiting the new world who did not think
more of finding gold, or the passage to India, or both, than of anything
else. Smith knew that in this world, new or old, men get what they work
for, and in the long run no more than that; and he made his gentlemen
colonists take off their coats and blister their gentlemanly hands with
the use of the spade and the ax. It is said that they excelled as
woodcutters, after due instruction; and they were undoubtedly in all
respects improved by this first lesson in Americanism. The American ax and
its wielders have become famous since that day; and the gentlemen of
Jamestown may enjoy the credit of having blazed the way.

Fresh emigrants kept coming in, of a more or less desirable quality, as
is the case with emigrants still. Some of them had been sent out by other
organizations than the London Company, and bred confusion; but Smith was
always more than equal to the emergency, and kept his growing brood in
hand. He had the satisfaction of feeling that he was the right man in the
right place; and let the grass grow under neither his feet nor theirs. The
abandonment threat of the London Company led him to take measures to make
the colony independent so far as food was concerned, and a tract of land
was prepared and planted with corn. Traffic for supplies with the Indians
was systematized; and by the time Smith's year of office had expired the
Jamestown settlement was self-supporting, and forever placed beyond the
reach of annihilation--though, the very year after he had left it, it came
within measurable distance thereof.

He now returned to England, and never revisited Jamestown; but he by no
means relaxed his interest in American colonization, or his efforts to
promote it. In 1614 he once more sailed westward with two ships, on a
trading and exploring enterprise, which was successful. He examined and
mapped the northern coast, already seen by Gosnold, and bestowed upon the
country the name of New England. Traditions of his presence and exploits
are still told along the shores of Maine, New Hampshire and Massachusetts.
In the year following he tried to found a small colony somewhere in these
regions, but was defeated by violent storms; and at a subsequent attempt
he fell in with French pirates, and his ship and fortune were lost, though
he himself escaped in an open skiff: the chains were never forged that
could hold this man. Nor was his spirit broken; he took his map and his
description of New England, and personally canvassed all likely persons
with a view to fitting out a new expedition. In 1617, aided perhaps by the
interest which Pocahontas had aroused in London, he was promised a fleet
of twenty vessels, and the title of Admiral of New England was bestowed
upon him. Admiral he remained till his death; but the fleet he was to
command never put forth to sea. A ship more famous than any he had
captained was to sail for New England in 1620, and land the Pilgrims on
Plymouth. Rock. Smith's active career was over, though he was but
eight-and-thirty years of age, and had fifteen years of life still before
him. He had drunk too deeply of the intoxicating cup of adventure and
achievement ever to be content with a duller draught; and from year to
year he continued to use his arguments and representations upon all who
would listen. But he no longer had money of his own, and he was
forestalled by other men. He was to have no share in the development of
the country which he had charted and named. At the time of his death in
London in 1632, poor and disappointed, Plymouth, Salem and Boston had been
founded, Virginia had entered upon a new career, and Maryland had been
settled by the Catholics under Lord Baltimore. The Dutch had created New
Amsterdam on Manhattan Island in 1623; and the new nation in the new
continent was fairly under way.

Jamestown, as has been said, narrowly escaped extinction in the winter of
1609. The colonists found none among their number to fill Smith's place,
and soon relapsed into the idleness and improvidence which he had so
resolutely counteracted. They ate all the food which he had laid up for
them, and when it was gone the Indians would sell them no more. Squads of
hungry men began to wander about the country, and many of them were
murdered by the savages. The mortality within the settlement was terrible,
and everything that could be used as food was eaten; at length cannibalism
was begun; the body of an Indian, and then the starved corpses of the
settlers themselves were devoured. Many crawled away to perish in the
woods; others, more energetic, seized a vessel and became pirates. In
short, such scenes were enacted as have been lately beheld in India and in
Cuba. The severity of the famine may be judged from the fact that out of
five hundred persons at the beginning of the six months, only sixty
diseased and moribund wretches survived. And this in a land which had been
described by its discoverers as a very Garden of Eden, flowing with milk
and honey.

Meanwhile, great things were preparing in England. Smith's warning that
America must be regarded and treated as an agricultural and industrial
community, and not as a treasure-box, had borne fruit; and a new charter
was applied for, which should more adequately satisfy the true conditions.
It was granted in 1609; Lord Salisbury was at the head of the promoters,
and with him were associated many hundreds of the lords, commoners and
merchants of England. The land assigned to them was a strip four hundred
miles in breadth north and south of Old Point Comfort, and across to the
Pacific, together with all islands lying within a hundred miles of shore.
In respect of administrative matters, the tendency of the new charter was
toward a freer arrangement; in especial, the company was to exercise the
powers heretofore lodged with the king, and the supreme council was to be
chosen by the shareholders. The governor was the appointee of the
corporation, and his powers were large and under conditions almost
absolute. The liberties of the emigrants themselves were not specifically
enlarged, but they were at least emancipated from the paternal solicitude
of the stingy and self-complacent pettifogger who graced the English
throne.

Lord Delaware was chosen governor; and Newport, Sir Thomas Gates and Sir
George Somers were the commissioners who were to conduct the affairs of
the colony until his arrival. A large number of emigrants, many of whom
contributed in money and supplies to the expedition, were assembled, and
the fleet numbered altogether nine vessels. But Newport and his fellow
commissioners suffered shipwreck on the Bermudas, and did not reach
Jamestown till nine months later, in May, 1610. The calamitous state of
things which there awaited them was an unwelcome surprise; and the
despairing colonists would be contented with nothing short of exportation
to Newfoundland. But before they could gain the sea, Lord Delaware with
his ships and provisions was met coming into port; and the intending
fugitives turned back with him. The hungry were fed, order was restored,
and industry was re-established. A wave of religious feeling swept over
the little community; the rule of Lord Delaware was mild, but just and
firm; and all would have been well had not his health failed, and
compelled him, in the spring of 1611, to return to England. The colony was
disheartened anew, and the arrival of Sir Thomas Dale in Delaware's place
did not at first relieve the depression; his training had been military,
and he administered affairs by martial law. But he believed in the future
of the enterprise, and so impressed his views upon the English council
that six more ships, with three hundred emigrants, were immediately sent
to their relief. Grates, who brought these recruits to Jamestown, assumed
the governorship, and a genuine prosperity began. Among the most important
of the improvements introduced was an approximation to the right of
private ownership in land, which had hitherto been altogether denied, and
which gave the emigrants a personal interest in the welfare of the
enterprise. In 1612 a third charter was granted, still further increasing
the privileges of the settlers, who now found themselves possessed of
almost the same political powers as they had enjoyed at home. It was still
possible, as was thereafter shown, for unjust and selfish governors to
inflict misery and discontent upon the people; but it was also possible,
under the law, to give them substantial freedom and happiness; and that
was a new light in political conceptions.

More than thirty years had now passed since Raleigh first turned his mind
to the colonizing of Virginia. He was now approaching the scaffold; but he
could feel a lofty satisfaction in the thought that it was mainly through
him that an opportunity of incalculable magnitude and possibilities had
been given for the enlargement and felicity of his race. He had sowed the
seed of England beyond the seas, and the quality of the fruit it should
bear was already becoming apparent to his eyes, soon to close forever upon
earthly things. The spirit of America was his spirit. He was for freedom,
enlightenment, and enterprise; and whenever a son of America has fulfilled
our best ideal of what an American should be, we find in him some of the
traits and qualities which molded the deeds and colored the thoughts of
this mighty Englishman.

Nor can we find a better example of the restless, practical, resourceful
side of the American character than is offered in Captain John Smith; even
in his boastfulness we must claim kinship with him. His sterling manhood,
his indomitable energy, his fertile invention, his ability as a leader and
as a negotiator, all ally him with the traditional Yankee, who carries on
in so matter-of-fact a way the solution of the problems of the new
democracy. Both these men, each in his degree, were Americans before
America.

And with them we may associate the name of Columbus; to him also we must
concede the spiritual citizenship of our country; not because of the bare
fact that he was the first to reach its shores, but because he had a soul
valiant enough to resist and defy the conservatism that will believe in no
new thing, and turns life into death lest life should involve labor and
self-sacrifice. Columbus, Smith, and Raleigh stand at the portals of our
history, types of the faith, success and honor which are our heritage.



CHAPTER SECOND

THE FREIGHT OF THE MAYFLOWER


The motive force which drove the English Separatists and Puritans to a
voluntary exile in New England in 1620 and later, had its origin in the
brain of the son of a Saxon slate cutter just a century before. Martin
Luther first gave utterance to a mental protest which had long been on the
tongue's tip of many thoughtful and conscientious persons in Europe, but
which, till then, no one had found the courage, or the energy, or the
conviction, or the clear-headedness (as the case might be) to formulate
and announce. Once having reached its focus, however, and attained its
expression, it spread like a flame in dry stubble, and produced results in
men and nations rarely precedented in the history of the world, whose
vibrations have not yet died away.

Henry VIII. of England was born and died a Catholic; though of religion
of any kind he never betrayed an inkling. His Act of Supremacy, in 1534,
which set his will above that of the Pope of Rome, had no religious
bearing, but merely indicated that he wanted to divorce one woman in order
to marry another. Nevertheless it made it incumbent upon the Pope to
excommunicate him, and thus placed him, and England as represented by him,
in a quasi-dissenting attitude toward the orthodox faith. And coming as it
did so soon after Luther's outbreak, it may have encouraged Englishmen to
think on lines of liberal belief.

Passionate times followed in religious--or rather in theological--matters,
all through the Sixteenth Century. The fulminations of Luther and the
logic of Calvin set England to discussing and taking sides; and when
Edward VI. came to the throne, he was himself a Protestant, or indeed a
Puritan, and the stimulus of Puritanism in others. But the mass of the
common people were still unmoved, because there was no means of getting at
them, and they had no stomach for dialectics, if there had been. The new
ideas would probably have made little headway had not Edward died and Mary
the Catholic come red-hot with zeal into his place. She lost no time in
catching and burning all dissenters, real or suspected; and as many of
these were honest persons who lived among the people, and were known and
approved by them, and as they uniformly endured their martyrdom with
admirable fortitude and good-humor, falling asleep in the crackling flames
like babes at the mother's breast, Puritanism received an advertisement
such as nothing since Christianity had enjoyed before, and which all the
unaided Luthers, Melanchthons and Calvins in the world could not have
given it.

This lasted five years, after which Mary went to her reward, and
Elizabeth came to her inheritance. She was no more of a religion-monger
than her distinguished father had been; but she was, like him, jealous of
her authority, and a martinet for order and obedience at all costs. A
certain intellectual voluptuousness of nature and an artistic instinct
inclined her to the splendid forms and ceremonies of the Catholic ritual;
but she was too good a politician not to understand that a large part of
her subjects were unalterably opposed to the papacy. After some
consideration, therefore, she adopted the expedient of a compromise, the
substance of which was that whatever was handsome and attractive in
Catholicism was to be retained, and only those technical points dropped
which made the Pope the despot of the Church. In ordinary times this would
have answered very well; human nature likes to eat its cake and have it
too; but this time was anything but ordinary. The reaction from old to new
ways of thinking, and the unforgotten persecutions of Mary, had made men
very fond of their opinions, and preternaturally unwilling to enter into
bargains with their consciences. At the same time loyalty to the Crown was
still a fetich in England, as indeed it always has been, except at and
about the time when Oliver Cromwell and others cut off the head of the
First Charles. Consequently when Elizabeth and Whitgift, her Archbishop of
Canterbury, set about putting their house in order in earnest, they were
met with a mixture of humble loyalty and immovable resistance which would
have perplexed any potentates less single-minded. But Elizabeth and
Whitgift were not of the sort that sets its hand to the plow and then
turns back; they went earnestly on with their banishments and executions,
paying particular attention to the Separatists, but keeping plenty in hand
for the Puritans also.--The Separatists, it may be observed, were so
called because their aim was to dispart themselves entirely from the
orthodox communion; the Puritans were willing to remain in the fold, but
had it in mind to purify it, by degrees, from the defilement which they
held it to have contracted. The former would not in the least particular
make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, or condone the sins of
the Scarlet Woman, or of anybody else; they would not inhale foul air,
with a view to sending it forth again disinfected by the fragrance of
their own lungs. They took their stand unequivocally upon the plain letter
of Scripture, and did away with all that leaned toward conciliating the
lighter sentiments and emotions; they would have no genuflexions, no
altars, no forms and ceremonies, no priestly vestments, no Apostolic
Succession, no priests, no confessions, no intermediation of any kind
between the individual and his Creator. The people themselves should make
and unmake their own "ministers," and in all ways live as close to the
bone as they could. The Puritans were not opposed to any of these beliefs;
only they were not so set upon proclaiming and acting upon them in season
and out of season; they contended that the idolatry of ritual, since it
had been several centuries growing up, should be allowed an appreciable
time to disappear. It will easily be understood that, at the bottom of
these religious innovations and inflammations, was a simple movement
toward greater human freedom in all directions, including the political.
It mattered little to the zealots on either side whether or not the secret
life of a man was morally correct; he must think in a certain prescribed
way, on pain of being held damnable, and, if occasion served, of being
sent to the other world before he had opportunity to further confirm his
damnation. The dissenters, when they got in motion, were just as
intolerant and bigoted as the conformists; and toward none was this
intolerance more strongly manifested than toward such as were in the main,
but not altogether, of their way of thinking. The Quakers and the
Independents had almost as hard an experience in New England, at the hands
of the Puritans, as the latter had endured from good Queen Bess and her
henchmen a few years before. But really, religion, in the absolute sense,
had very little to do with these movements and conflicts; the impulse was
supposed to be religion because religion dwells in the most interior
region of a man's soul. But the craving for freedom also proceeds from an
interior place; and so does the lust for tyranny. Propinquity was mistaken
for identity, and anything which was felt but could not be reasoned about
assumed a religious aspect to the subject of it, and all the artillery of
Heaven and Hell, and the vocabulary thereof, were pressed into service to
champion it.

But New England had to be peopled, and this was the way to people it. The
dissenters perceived that, though they might think as they pleased in
England, they could not combine this privilege with keeping clear of the
fagot or the gibbet; and though martyrdom is honorable, and perhaps
gratifying to one's vanity, it can be overdone.

They came to the conclusion, accordingly, that practical common sense
demanded their expatriation; and some of them humbly petitioned her
Majesty to be allowed to take themselves off. The Queen did not show
herself wholly agreeable to this project; womanlike, and queenlike, she
wanted to convince them even more than to be rid of them; or if they must
be got rid of, she preferred to dispose of them herself in the manner
prescribed for stubborn heretics. But the lady was getting on in years,
and was not so ardently loved as she had been; and her activity against
the heretics could not keep pace with her animosity. She had succeeded in
many things, and her reign was accounted glorious; but she had won no
glory by the Puritans and Separatists, and her campaign against them had
not succeeded. They were stronger than ever, and were to grow stronger
yet. It was remembered, too, by her servants, that, when she was dead,
some one might ascend the throne who was less averse to nonconformity than
she had been; and then those who had persecuted might suffer persecution
in their turn. So although the prayer of the would-be colonists was not
granted, the severity against them was relaxed; and as Elizabeth's last
breath rattled in her throat, the mourners had one ear cocked toward the
window, to hear in what sort of a voice James was speaking.

Their fears had been groundless. The new king spoke Latin, and "peppered
the Puritans soundly." The walls of Hampton Court resounded with his
shrill determination to tolerate none of their nonsense; and he declared
to the assembled prelates, who were dissolving in tears of joy, that
bishops were the most trustworthy legs a monarch could walk on. The
dissenters, who had hoped much, were disappointed in proportion; but they
were hardened into an opposition sterner than they had ever felt before.
They must help themselves, since no man would help them; and why not
--since they had God on their side? They controlled the House of Commons,
and made themselves felt there, till James declared that he preferred a
hermitage to ruling such a pack of malcontents. The clergy renewed their
persecutions; the government of England was a despotism of the strictest
kind; and the fire which had been repressed in Puritan bosoms began to
emit sullen sparks through their eyes and lips.

A group of them in the north of England established a church, and called
upon all whom it might concern to shake off anti-Christian bondage. John
Robinson and William Brewster gave it their support, and their meetings
were made interesting by the spies of the government. Finally they were
driven to attempt an escape to Holland; and, after one miscarriage, they
succeeded in getting off from the coast of Lincolnshire in the spring of
1608, and were transported to Amsterdam. They could but tarry there; their
only country now was Heaven; meanwhile they were wandering Pilgrims on the
face of the earth, as their Lord had been before them. From Amsterdam they
presently removed to Leyden, where they conducted themselves with such
propriety as to win the encomiums of the natives. But their holy
prosperity did not make them happy, or enable them to be on comfortable
terms with the Dutch language; they could not get elbow-room, or feel that
they were doing themselves justice; and as the rumors of a fertile
wilderness overseas came to their ears, they began to contemplate the
expediency of betaking themselves thither. It was now the year 1617; and
negotiations were entered into with the London Company to proceed under
their charter.

The London Company were disposed to consider the proposition favorably,
but the affair dragged, and when it was brought before the government it
was quashed by Bacon, who opined that the coat of Christ must be seamless,
and that even in a remote wilderness heretics must not be permitted to
rend it. The Pilgrims might have replied that if a coat is already torn,
it profits not to declare it whole; but they were not students of
repartee, and merely relinquished efforts to secure support in that
direction. They must go into exile without official sanction, that was
all. The king's law enjoined, to be sure, that if any dissenters were
discovered abroad they were straightway to be sent to England for
discipline; but inasmuch as the threat of exile was, at the same time,
held over the same dissenters at home, it would seem a saving of trouble
all round to go abroad and trust to God. "If they mean to wrong us," they
aptly remarked, "a royal seal, though it were as broad as the house floor,
would not protect us." A suggestion that the Dutchmen fit them out for
their voyage, and share their profits, fell through on the question of
protection against other nations; and when they had prepared their minds
to make the venture without any protection at all, it turned out that
there was not capital enough in the community to pay for transport. Within
three years, however, this difficulty was overcome, and in July of 1620
two ships were hired--the "Speedwell" and the "Mayflower"--and the
progenitors of religious and civil liberty in America were ready to set
forth.

There was not accommodation for them all on the two vessels, the one of
sixty tons, the other of thrice as many; so a division was made, Robinson
remaining in Leyden with one party, until means could be had to bring them
over; and Brewster accompanying the emigrants, supported by John Carver
and Miles Standish. Robinson, one of the finest and purest spirits of the
time, died while waiting to join his friends; but most of the others were
brought over in due season.

The hymns of praise and hope which were up-lifted on the shores of Delft
Haven, in the hour of farewell between those who went and those who
stayed, though the faith which inspired them was stanch, and the voices
which chanted them musical and sweet, could not restrain the tears that
flowed at the severing of ties which had been welded by exile, hardship,
and persecution for conscience' sake; nor were the two "feasts" which
comforted the bellies of the departing ones able to console their hearts.
It is different with trips across the Atlantic nowadays: and different,
likewise, are the motives which prompt them.

The "Speedwell" turned back at Plymouth, England, and the "Mayflower"
went on alone, with her company of one hundred and two, including women,
some of whom were soon to be mothers. The Atlantic, though a good friend
of theirs, was rough and boisterous in its manners, and tossed them on
their way rudely; in that little cabin harrowing discomfort must have been
undergone, and Christian forbearance sorely tried. The pitching and
tossing lasted more than two months, from the 6th of September till the
7th of December, when they sighted--not the Bay of New York, as they had
intended, but the snow-covered sand mounds of Cape Cod. It was at best an
inhospitable coast, and the time of their visit could not have been worse
chosen.

But indeed they were to be tested to the utmost; their experiences during
that winter would have discouraged oak and iron; but it had no such effect
upon these English men and women of flesh and blood. The New England
winter climate has its reputation still; but these people were not fit for
the encounter. They had been living in the moist mildness of Holland for
thirteen years, and for more than sixty days had been penned in that
stifling "Mayflower" cabin, seasick, bruised and sleepless. It sleeted,
snowed, rained and froze, and they could find no place to get ashore on;
their pinnace got stove, and the icy waves wet them to the marrow.
Standish and some others made explorations on land; but found nothing
better than some baskets of maize and a number of Indian graves buried in
the snow-drifts. At last they stumbled upon a little harbor, upon which
abutted a hollow between low hills, with an icebound stream descending
through it to the sea. They must make shift with that or perish. It was
the 21st of December.


That date is inscribed on the front page of our history, and the Pilgrim
Fathers and their wives and daughters are celebrated persons, though they
were only a lot of English farmers in exile for heresy. But no dreams of
renown visited them then; they had nothing to uphold them but their
amazing faith. What that faith must have been their conduct demonstrates;
but it is difficult to comprehend such a spirit; we remember all the
persecutions, all the energy of new convictions, and still it seems
miraculous. Liberty to think as they pleased, and to act upon their
belief: that was all they had to fight with. It seems very thin armor, an
ineffective sword: but what a victory they won!

Before they disembarked, a meeting was held in the cabin for the
transaction of certain business. Since then, whenever a handful of Yankees
have been gathered together, it has been their instinct to organize and
pass resolutions. It is the instinct of order and self-government, the
putting of each man in his proper place, and assigning to him his
function. This meeting of the Pilgrims was the prototype, and the
resolutions they passed constitute the model upon which our commonwealth
is based. They promised one another, in the presence of God, equal laws
and fidelity to the general good: the principles of a free democracy.

They disembarked on the flat bowlder known as Plymouth Rock and set to
work to make their home. With the snow under their feet, the dark, naked
woods hemming them in, and concealing they knew not what savage perils;
with the bitter waves flinging frozen spray along the shore, and
immitigable clouds lowering above them--memory may have drawn a picture of
the quiet English vales in which they were born, or of the hazy Dutch
levels, with the windmills swinging their arms slumberously above the
still canals, and the clean streets and gabled façades of the prosperous
Holland town which had sheltered and befriended them. They thought of
faces they loved and would see no more, and of the secure and tranquil
lives they might have led, but for that tooth of conscience at their
hearts, which would give them peace only at the cost of almost all that
humanity holds dear. Did any of them wish they had not come? did any doubt
in his or her heart whether a cold abstraction was worth adopting in lieu
of the great, warm, kindly world? Verily, not one!

They got to work at their home-making without delay; but all were ill,
and many were dying. That winter they put up with much labor a few log
huts; but their chief industry was the digging of clams and of graves.
Half of their number were buried before the summer, and there was not food
enough for the rest to eat. John Carver, who had been elected governor at
landing, died in April, having already lost his son. But those who did
survive their first year lived long; it is wonder that they ever died at
all, who could survive such an experience.

Spring came, and with it a visitor. It was in March--not a salubrious
month in New England; but the trees were beginning to pat out brown buds
with green or red tips, and grass and shrubs were sprouting in sheltered
places, though snow still lay in spots where sunshine could not fall. The
trailing arbutus could be found here and there, with a perfume that all
the cruelty of winter seemed to have made only more sweet. Birds were
singing, too, and the settlers had listened to them with joy; they had
gone near to forget that God had made birds. On some days, from the south,
came the breathing of soft, fragrant airs; and there were breadths of blue
in the sky that looked as if so fresh and tender a hue must have been just
created.

The men, in thick jerkins, heavy boots, and sugarloaf hats, were busy
about the clearing; some, like Miles Standish, wore a steel plate over
their breasts, and kept their matchlocks within reach, for though a
pestilence had exterminated the local Indians before they came, and, with
the exception of one momentary skirmish, in which no harm was done,
nothing had been seen or heard of the red men--still it was known that
Indians existed, and it was taken for granted that they would be hostile.
Meanwhile the women, in homespun frocks and jackets, with kerchiefs round
their shoulders, and faces in which some trace of the English ruddiness
had begun to return, sat spinning in the doorways of the huts, keeping an
eye on the kettles of Indian meal. The morning sunlight fell upon a scene
which, for the first time, seemed homelike: not like the lost homes in
England, but a place people could live human lives in, and grow fond of.
The hope of spring was with them.

All at once, down the forest glade, treading noiselessly on moccasined
feet, came a tall, wild, unfamiliar figure, with feathers in his black
hair, and black eyes gleaming above his high cheekbones. An Indian, at
last! He had come so silently that he had emerged from the shadow of the
forest and was almost amid them before he was seen. Some of the settlers,
perhaps, felt a momentary tightening round the heart; for though we are
always in the hollow of God's hand, there are times when we are surprised
into forgetfulness of that security, and are concerned about carnal
perils. Captain Standish, who had taken a flying shot at some of these
heathen four or five months ago, caught up a loaded musket leaning against
the corner of a hut, and stood on his guard, doubting that more of the
savages were lurking behind the trees. He had even thus early in American
history come to the view long afterward formulated in the epigram that the
only good Indians are the dead ones.

But the keen, spare savage made no hostile demonstration; he paused
before the captain, with the dignity of his race, and held out his empty
hands. And then, to the vast astonishment of Standish and of the others
who had gathered to his support, he opened his mouth and spoke English:
"Welcome, Englishmen!" said he. They must have fancied, for an instant,
that the Lord had wrought a special miracle for them, in bestowing upon
this native of the primeval forest the gift of tongues.

There was, however, nothing miraculous about Samoset, who had picked up
his linguistic accomplishment, such as it was, from a fellow savage who
had been kidnapped and taken to England, whom he afterward introduced to
the colony, where he made himself useful. Samoset's present business was
as embassador from the great chief and sachem, Massasoit, lord of
everything thereabout, who sent friendly greetings, and would be pleased
to confer with the new comers, at their convenience, and arrange an
alliance.

These were good words, and they must have taken a weight from every heart
there; not only the dread of immediate attack, but the omnipresent and
abiding anxiety that the time would come when they would have to fight for
their lives, and defend the persecuted church of the Lord against foes who
knew nothing of conformist or nonconformist, but who were as proficient as
Queen Mary herself in the use of fire and torture. These misgivings might
now be dismissed; if the ruler of so many tribes was willing to stand
their friend, who should harm them? So they all gathered round Samoset on
that sunny spring morning; the women observing curiously and in silence
his strange aspect and gestures, and occasionally exchanging glances with
one another at some turn of the talk; while the sturdy Miles, and Governor
Carver, pale with illness which within a month reunited him with the son
he had loved, and Elder Brewster, with his serious mien, and Bradford, who
was to succeed Carver, with his strong, authoritative features and
thoughtful forehead;--these and more than a score more of the brethren
stood eying their visitor, questioning him earnestly and trying to make
out his meaning from his imperfect English gruntings. And they spoke one
to another of the action that should be taken on his message, or commented
with pious exclamations on the mercy of the Lord in thus raising up for
them protectors even in the wilderness. Meanwhile a chipmunk flitted along
the bole of a fallen tree, a thrush chirped in the brake, a deer, passing
airy-footed across an opening in the forest, looked an instant and then
turned and plunged fleetly away amid the boughs, and a lean-bellied wolf,
prospecting for himself and his friends, stuck his sinister snout through
a clump of underbrush, and curled his lips above the long row of his white
teeth in an ugly grin. This friendship boded no good to him.

The coming of Samoset was followed after a while by the introduction of
Squanto, the worthy savage who had enjoyed the refining influences of
distant England, whose services as interpreter were of much value in that
juncture; and after a short time Massasoit himself accepted the settlers'
invitation to become their guest during the making of the treaty. He was
received with becoming honor; the diplomatists proceeded at once to
business, and before twilight the state paper had been drawn up, signed
and sealed. Its provisions ran that both parties were to abstain from
harming each other, were to observe an offensive and defensive alliance,
and to deliver up offenders. These terms were religiously kept for half a
century; by which time the colonists were able to take care of themselves.
Its good effects were illustrated in the case of the chief Canonicus, who
was disposed to pick a quarrel with the Englishmen, and sent them, as a
symbol of his attitude, a rattlesnake's skin wrapped round a sheaf of
arrows. Bradford, to indicate that he also understood the language of
emblems, sent the skin back stuffed with powder and bullets. Canonicus
seems to have fancied that these substances were capable of destroying him
spontaneously, and returned them with pacific assurances. Such weapons,
combined with the alliance, were too much for him. Canonicus was chief of
the Narragansetts; Massasoit, of the Wampanoags. In 1676 the son of
Massasoit, for some fancied slight, made war upon the settlers, and the
Narragansetts helped him; in this war, known as King Philip's, the
settlers suffered severely, though they were victorious. But had it come
during the early years of their sojourn, not one of them would have
survived, and New England might never have become what she is now.

Meantime the Pilgrims, pilgrims no longer, settled down to make the
wilderness blossom as the rose. At their first landing they had agreed,
like the colonists of Virginia, to own their land and work it in common;
but they were much quicker than the Jamestown folk to perceive the
inexpediency of this plan, and reformed it by giving each man or family a
private plot of ground. Agriculture then developed so rapidly that corn
enough was raised to supply the Indians as well as the English; and the
importation of neat cattle increased the home look as well as the
prosperity of the farms. There was also a valuable trade in furs, which
stimulated an abortive attempt at rivalry. None could compete with the
Pilgrims on their own ground; for were they not growing up with the
country, and the Lord--was He not with them? More troublesome than this
effort of Weston was the obstruction of the Company in England, and its
usurious practices; the colonists finally bought them out, and relied
henceforth wholly on themselves, with the best results. As years went by
their numbers increased, though but slowly. They did not invite the
co-operation of persons not of their way of thinking, and the world was
never over-supplied with Separatists. On the other hand, they were active
and full of enterprise, and sent out branches in all directions, which
shared the vitality of the parent stock. Every man of them was trained to
self-government, and where he went order and equity accompanied him. A
purer democracy could not be framed; for years the elections were made by
the entire body of the assembled citizens; His Dread Majesty, King James,
never sent them his royal Charter, but the charter provided by their own
love of justice and solid good sense served them far better. Their
governors were responsible directly to the people, and were further
restrained by a council of seven members. This political basis is that
upon which our present form of government rests; but it is strange to see
what Daedalian complications, and wheels within wheels, we have contrived
to work into the superstructure. A modern ward heeler in New York could
have taken up the whole frame of government in Seventeenth Century New
England by the butt end, and cracked it like a whip--provided of course the
Pilgrim fathers had allowed him to attend the primaries.

But it is more probable that the ward heeler would have found himself
promptly in the presence of one of those terrific magistrates whose grim
decrees gave New England naughty children the nightmare a century after
the stern-browed promulgators of them were dust. The early laws against
crime in New England were severe, though death was seldom or never
inflicted save for murder. But more irksome to one used to the lax habits
of to-day would have been the punctilious rigidity with which they guarded
the personal bearing, speech, and dress of the members of their community.
Yet we may thank them for having done so; it was a wise precaution; they
knew the frailties of the flesh, and how easily license takes an ell if an
inch be given it. Nothing less iron than was their self-restraint could
have provided material stanch enough to build up the framework of our
nation. One might not have enjoyed living with them; but we may be
heartily glad that they lived; and we should be the better off if more of
their stamp were alive still.

But these iron people had their tender and sentimental side as well, and
the self-command which they habitually exercised made the softening, when
it came, the more beautiful. One of the love romances of this little
colony has come down to us, and may be taken as the substantial truth; it
has entered into our literature and poetry, and touches us more nearly
even than the tale of Pocahontas. Its telling by our most popular poet has
brought it to the knowledge of a greater circle of readers than it could
otherwise have reached; but the elaboration of his treatment could add
nothing to the human charm of it, or sharpen our conception of the leading
characters in the drama. Miles Standish had been a soldier in the
Netherlands before joining the Pilgrims, and to him they gave the military
guardianship of the colony, with the title of captain. He was then about
thirty-six years of age, a bluff, straightforward soldier, whom a life of
hardship had made older than his years. He had known little of women's
society, but during the long voyage he came to love Priscilla Mullens, and
when the spring came to the survivors at Plymouth, he wished to marry her.
But he would not trust, as Othello did, to the simple art of a soldier to
woo her; and Priscilla was probably no Desdemona. But there was a youth
among the colonists, just come of age, whom Standish had liked and
befriended, and who, though a cooper and ship-carpenter by trade, was
gifted with what seemed to Standish especial graces of person and speech.
Alden had not been one of the original pilgrims; he had been hired to
repair the "Mayflower" while she lay at Southampton, and decided to sail
on her when she sailed; perhaps with the hope of making his fortune in the
new world, perhaps because he wished to go where Priscilla went. She was a
girl whom any man might rejoice to make his wife; vigorous and wholesome
as well as comely, and endowed with a strong character, sweetened by a
touch of humor. John had never spoken to her of his love, any more than
Miles had; whether Priscilla's clear eyes had divined it, we know not; but
it is likely that she saw through the cooper and the soldier both.

The honest soldier was a fool, and saw nothing but Priscilla, and felt
nothing but his love for her. He took John Alden by the arm, and, leading
him apart into the forest, proposed to him to go to young Mistress Mullens
and ask her if she would become the wife of Captain Standish. Alden was
honest, too; but he was dominated by his older friend, and lacked the
courage to tell him that he had hoped for Priscilla for himself; he let
the critical moment for this explanation pass, and then there was nothing
for it but to accept the Captain's commission. We can imagine how this
situation would be handled by the analytic novelists of our day; how they
would spread Alden's heart and conscience out on paper, and dry them, and
pick them to pieces. The young fellow certainly had a hard thing to do; he
must tread down his own passion, and win the girl for his rival into the
bargain. To her he went, and spoke. But the only way he could spur himself
to eloquence was to imagine that he was Standish, and then woo her as he
would have done had Standish been he.

Maidens of rounded nature, like Priscilla, pay less attention to what a
man says than to the tones of his voice, the look in his eyes, and his
unconscious movements. As Alden warmed to his work, she glanced at him
occasionally, and not only wished that Heaven had made her such a man, but
decided that it had. So, when the youth had finished off an ardent
peroration, in which the Captain was made to appear in a guise of heroic
gallantry that did not suit him in the least, but which was the best John
could do for him: there was a pause, while the vicarious wooer wiped his
brow, and felt very miserable, remembering that if she yielded, it would
be to Miles and not to him. She divined what was in his mind, and sent him
to Heaven with one of the womanliest and loveliest things that ever woman
said to man: "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" she asked, gazing
straight at him, with a quiver of her lips that was half humor and half
the promise of tears.

John still had before him a bad quarter of an hour with the Captain; it
was as hard to make him understand that he had not played the traitor to
him as it had been to persuade Priscilla to do what she had not done; but
the affair ended without a tragedy, which would have spoiled it. Captain
Standish, when Priscilla married, went to live in Duxbury; and a year or
two later worked off his spleen by slaying the Indian rascals who were
plotting to murder the Weston settlers at Weymouth. He and his men did not
wait for the savages to strike the first blow; they made no pretense of
exhausting all the resources of diplomacy before proceeding to
extremities. They walked up to the enemy, suddenly seized them by the
throat, and drove the knives which the Indians themselves wore through
their false hearts. There was no more trouble from Indians in that region
for a long time; and Captain Standish's feelings were greatly relieved. As
for John and Priscilla, they lived long and prospered, John attaining the
age of eighty-seven, which indicates domestic felicity. They had issue,
and their descendants live among us to this day in comfort and honor.

King James, like other spiteful and weak men, had a long memory, and amid
the many things that engaged his attention he did not forget the colonists
of Plymouth, who had exiled themselves without a charter from him. In the
same year which witnessed their disembarkation at Plymouth Rock, he
incorporated a company consisting of friends of his own, and gave them a
tract of country between the fortieth and the forty-eighth parallels of
north latitude, which of course included the Plymouth colony. In addition
to all other possible rights and privileges, it had the monopoly of the
fisheries of the coast, and it was from this that revenue was most
certainly expected, since it was proposed to lay a tax on all tonnage
engaged in it. All the new company had to do was to grant charters to all
who might apply, and reap the profits. But the scheme was fated to
miscarry, because the pretense of colonization behind it was impotent, and
the true object in view was the old one of getting everything that could
be secured out of the country, and putting nothing into it. The fisheries
monopoly was powerfully opposed in Parliament and finally defeated; small
sporadic settlements, with no sound principle or purpose within them,
appeared and disappeared along the coast from Massachusetts to the
northern borders of Maine. One grant conflicted with another, titles were
in dispute, and lawsuits were rife. The king sanctioned whatever injustice
or restriction his company proposed, but his decrees, many of them
illegal, were ineffective, and produced only confusion. Agriculture was
hardly attempted in any of the little settlements authorized by the
company, and the only trade pursued was in furs and fishes. The rights of
the Indians were wholly disregarded, and the domain of the French at the
north was infringed upon. All this while the Pilgrims continued their
industries and maintained their democracy, undisturbed by the feeble
machinations of the king; and in 1625 the death of the latter temporarily
cleared the air. Charles affixed his seal to the famous Massachusetts
Charter four years later; and though Gorges and some others continued to
harass New England for some time longer, the plan of colonizing by
fisheries was hopelessly discredited, and the development of civil and
religious liberties among the serious colonists was assured.

The experiments thus far made in dealing with the new country had had a
significant result. The Plymouth colony, going out with neither charter
nor patronage, and with the purpose not of finding gold or making
fortunes, but of establishing a home wherein to dwell in perpetuity--which
was handicapped by the abject poverty of its members, and by the
severities of a climate till then unknown--this enterprise was found to
hold the elements of success from the start, and it steadily increased in
power and influence. It suffered from time to time from the tyranny of
royal governors and the ignorance or malice of absentee statesmanship; but
nothing could extinguish or corrupt it; on the contrary, it went "slowly
broadening down, from precedent to precedent," until, when the moment of
supreme trial came to the Thirteen Colonies, the descendants of the
Pilgrims and the Puritans, and the men who had absorbed their ideas, put
New England in the van of patriotism and progress. It is a noble record,
and a pregnant example to all friends of freedom.

In suggestive contrast with this was the Jamestown enterprise. As we have
seen, this colony was saved from almost immediate extinction solely by the
genius and energy of one man, whom his fellow members had at first tried
to exclude altogether from their councils and companionship. Belonging to
a class socially higher and presumably more intelligent than the Pilgrims,
and continually furnished with supplies from the Company in England, they
were unable during twelve years to make any independent stand against
disaster. In a climate which was as salubrious as that of New England was
rigorous, and with a soil as fertile as any in the world, they dwindled
and starved, and their dearest wish was to return to England. They were
saved at last (as we shall presently see) by two things; first, by the
discovery of the value of tobacco as an export, and of its usefulness as a
currency for the internal trade of the country; and secondly, and much
more, by the Charter of 1618, which gave the people the privilege of
helping to make their own laws. That year marked the beginning of civil
liberty in America; but what it had taken the Jamestown colonists twelve
weary and disastrous years to attain, was claimed by the pious farmers of
Plymouth before ever they set foot on Forefather's Rock. Willingness to
labor, zeal for the common welfare, indifference to wealth, independence,
moral and religious integrity and fervor--these were some of the traits and
virtues whose cultivation made the Pilgrims prosperous, and the neglect or
lack of which discomfited the Virginia settlers. The latter, man for man,
were by nature as capable as the former of profiting by right conditions
and training; and as soon as they obtained them they showed favorable
results. But in the meantime the lesson was driven home that a virgin
country cannot be subdued and rendered productive by selfish and unjust
procedure: a homely and hackneyed lesson, but one which can never be too
often quoted, since each fresh generation must buy its own experience, and
it often happens that a situation essentially old assumes a novel aspect,
owing to external modifications of time and place.

The Plymouth Colony, after remaining long separate and self-supporting,
consented to a union with the larger and richer settlements of
Massachusetts. The charter secured by the latter, and the manner in which
it was administered, were alike remarkable. The granting of it was
facilitated by the threatened encroachments of other than Englishmen upon
the New England domain; it was represented to Charles that it was
necessary to be beforehand with these gentry, if they were to be
restrained. Charles was on the verge of that rupture with law and order in
his own realm which culminated in his dismissal of Parliament, and for ten
years attempting the task of governing England without it. He approved the
charter without adequately realizing the full breadth and pregnancy of its
provisions, which, in effect, secured civil and ecclesiastical
emancipation to the settlers under it. But what was quite as important was
the consideration that it went into effect at a time incomparably
favorable to its success. The Plymouth colony had proved that a godly and
self-denying community could flourish in the wilderness, in the enjoyment
of spiritual blessings unattainable at home. The power of English prelacy
did not extend beyond the borders of England: idolatrous ceremonies could
be eschewed in Massachusetts without fear of persecution. Thousands of
Puritans were prepared to give up their homes for the sake of liberty, and
only waited assurance that it could be obtained. The condition of society
and education in England was vicious and corrupt; and though it might
become brave and true men to suffer persecution in witness of their faith,
yet there was danger that their children might be induced to fall away
from the truth, after they were gone. Martyrdom was well, but it must not
be allowed to such an extreme as to extirpate the proclaimers of the
truth. Many of those who were prepared to take advantage of the charter
were of the best stock in England, men of brains and substance as well as
piety; graduates of the Universities, country gentlemen, men of the world
and of affairs. A colony made of such elements would be a new thing in the
earth; it would comprise all that was strong and wise in human society,
and would exclude every germ of weakness and frailty. The sealing of the
charter was like the touching of the electric button which, in our day,
sets in motion for the first time a vast mechanical system, or fires a
simultaneous salute of guns in a hundred cities. King Charles I., who was
to lose his anointed head on the block because he tried to crush popular
liberty in England, was the immediate human instrument of giving the
purest form of such liberty to English exiles beyond the sea.

The charter constituted an organization called the Governor and Company
of Massachusetts Bay in New England. The governor, annually elected by the
members, was assisted by a deputy and assistants, and was to call a
business meeting monthly or oftener, and in addition was to preside four
times a year at an assembly of the whole body of the freemen, to make laws
and determine appointments. Freedom of Puritan worship was assured, in
part explicitly, in part tacitly. The king had no direct relation with
their proceedings, beyond the general and vague claims of royal
prerogative; and it was an open question whether Parliament had the power
to override the authority of the patentees.

It will be seen that this charter was in no respect inharmonious with the
system of self-government which had grown up among the Plymouth colonists;
it was a more complete and definite formulation of principles which must
ever be supported by men who wish so to live as to obtain the highest
social and religious welfare. It was the stately flowering of a seed
already obscurely planted, and though it was to be now and again checked
in its development, would finally bear the fruit of the Tree of Life.



CHAPTER THIRD

THE SPIRIT OF THE PURITANS


Among the characteristic figures of this age, none shows stronger
lineaments than that of John Endicott. He was, at the time of his coming
to Massachusetts, not yet forty years of age; he remained there till his
death at six-and-seventy. He was repeatedly elected governor, and died in
the governor's chair. In 1645 he was made Major-general of the Colonial
troops; nine years before he had headed a campaign against the Pequot
Indians. His character illustrated the full measure of Puritan sternness;
he was an inflexible persecutor of the Quakers, and was instrumental in
causing four of them to be executed in Boston. In his career is found no
feeble passage; he was always Endicott. He was a man grown before he
attained, under the ministrations of Samuel Skelton of Cambridge, in
England, the religious awakening which placed him in the forefront of the
Puritan dissenters of his time; and it may be surmised that the force of
nature which gave him his self-command would, otherwise directed, have
opened still wider the gates of license and recklessness which marked the
conduct of many in that period. But, having taken his course, he
disciplined himself to the strictest observances, and required them of
others. He was a man of perfect moral and physical courage, austere and
choleric; yet there was in him a certain cheerfulness and kindliness, like
sunshine touching the ruggedness of a granite bowlder. An old portrait of
him presents a full and ruddy countenance, without a beard, and with large
eyes which gaze sternly out upon the beholder. When the Massachusetts
Company was formed, it contained many men of pith and mark, such as
Saltonstall, Bellingham, Eaton, and others; but, by common consent,
Endicott was chosen as the first governor of the new realm, and he sailed
for Boston harbor in June, 1628. He took with him his wife and children,
and a small following of fit companions, and landed in September.

Many tales are told of the doings of Endicott in Massachusetts. Like
those of all strong men, his deeds were often embellished with legendary
ornaments, but the exaggerations, if such there be, are colored by a true
conception of his character. At the time of his advent, there was at
Merrymount, or Mount Walloston, now within the boundaries of Quincy, near
Boston, a colony which was a survival of the one founded by Thomas Weston,
through the agency of Thomas Morton, an English lawyer, who was more than
once brought to book for unpuritanical conduct. Here was collected, in
1628, a number of waifs and strays, and other persons, not in sympathy
with the rigorous habits of the Puritans, whose proceedings were of a more
or less licentious and unbecoming quality, calculated to disturb the order
and propriety of the realm. Endicott, on being apprised of their behavior,
went thither with some armed men, and put a summary end to the colony;
Morton was sent back to England, and the "revelries" which he had
countenanced or promoted were seen no more in Massachusetts. The era for
gayeties had not yet come in the new world. Endicott would not be
satisfied with crushing out evil; he would also nip in the bud all such
lightsome and frivolous conduct as might lead those who indulged in it to
forget the dangers and difficulties attending the planting of the reformed
faith in the wilderness.

More impressive yet is the story of how he resented the project of Laud,
Archbishop of Canterbury, and the most zealous supporter of the follies
and iniquities of King Charles, to force the ritual of the orthodox church
upon the people of Massachusetts. When Endicott received from Governor
Winthrop the letter containing this news, whose purport, it carried out,
would undo all that the Puritans had most passionately labored to
establish; for which they had given up their homes and friends, and to the
safe-guarding of which they had pledged their lives, their fortunes, and
their sacred honor:--he was deeply stirred, and resolved that a public
demonstration should be made of the irrevocable opposition of the people
to the measure. He was at that time captain of the trained band of Salem,
which was used to meet for drill in the square of the little settlement.
It had for a long time disquieted Endicott and other Puritan leaders that
the banner of England, under which, as Englishmen, they must live and
fight, should bear upon it the sign of the red cross, which was the very
emblem of the popery which their souls abhorred. It had seemed to them
almost a sin to tolerate it; and yet it was treason to take any liberties
with the national ensign. But Endicott was now in a mood to encounter any
risk; since, if Laud's will were enforced, there would be little left in
New England worth fighting for.

Accordingly, on the next training day, when the able men of Salem were
drawn up in their breastplates and headpieces, with the Red-Cross flag
floating over them, and the rest of the townspeople, with here and there
an Indian among them, looking on: Endicott, in his armor, with his sword
upon his thigh, spoke in passionate terms to the assembly of the matter
which weighed upon his heart. And then, as a symbol of the Puritan
protest, and a pledge of his vital sincerity, he took the banner in his
hand, and, drawing his sword, cut the cross out of its folds. The
unparalleled audacity and rashness of this act, which might have brought
upon New England a revocation of her charter and destruction of the
liberties which already exceeded those vouchsafed to Englishmen at home,
alarmed Winthrop, and sent a thrill throughout the colony. But the deed
was too public to be disavowed, and Endicott and they must abide the
consequences. Information of the outrage was carried to Charles; but he
was fortunately too much preoccupied at the moment with the struggle for
his crown at home to be able to take proper action upon the slight put
upon his authority in Salem. No punishment was inflicted upon the bold
soldier, who thus anticipated by nearly a century and a half the step
finally taken by the patriots of 1776.

To return, however, to Endicott's arrival in Boston (as it was afterward
named, in honor of that Lincolnshire Boston from which many of the
emigrants came). There were already a few settlers there, who had come in
from various motives, and one or two of whom were inclined to assert
squatter sovereignty. The rights of the Indians were respected, in
accordance with the injunctions of the Company; and Sagamore John, who
asserted his rights as chief over the neck of land and the hilly
promontory of the present city, was so courteously entreated that he
permitted the erection of a house there, and the laying out of streets.
While these preparations were going forward, the bulk of the first
emigration, numbering two hundred persons, with servants, cattle, arms and
other provisions, entered the harbor. They had had a prosperous and pious
voyage, being much refreshed with religious services performed daily; and
it may be recorded as perhaps a unique fact in the annals of ocean
navigation that the ship captain and the sailors punctuated the setting of
the morning and noon watches with the singing of psalms and with prayer.
This sounds apocryphal; but it is stated in the narrative of "New
England's Plantation," written and circulated by Mr. Higginson soon after
their arrival; and it must be remembered that the ship carried a supply of
personages of the clerical profession out of proportion to the number of
the rest of the passengers. But palliate the marvel how we may, we cannot
help smiling at it, and at the same time regretting that the Puritans
themselves probably had no realization of the miracle which was
transacting under their noses. They doubtless regarded it as a matter of
course, instead of a thing to occur but once in a precession of the
equinoxes.

And now, it might be supposed, began the building of the city: the
clearing of the forest, the chopping of wood, the sawing of beams, the
digging of foundations, the ringing of hammers, and the uprising on every
side of the dwellings of civilization. And certainly steps were taken to
provide the company with shelter from the present summer heats and from
the snows of winter to come; and they had brought with them artisans
skilled to do the necessary work. But though the Puritans never could be
called remiss in respect of making due provision for the necessities of
this life, yet all was done with a view to the conditions of the life to
come; and in the annals of the time we read more of the prayers and fasts,
the choosing of ministers, and the promotion and practice of godliness in
general, than we do of any temporal matters. Men there were, like
Endicott, who united the strictest religious zeal with all manner of
practical abilities; but there were many, too, who had been no more
accustomed to shift for themselves than were the gentlemen of Jamestown.
They differed from the latter, however, in an enlightened conception of
the work before them, in enthusiasm for the commonweal, and in
determination to familiarize themselves as soon as possible with the
requirements of their situation. The town did not come up in a night, like
the shanty cities of our western pioneers; nor did it contain gambling
houses and liquor saloons as its chief public buildings. These men were
building a social structure meant to last for all time, and houses in
which they hoped to pass the years of their natural lives; and they
proceeded with what we would now consider unwarrantable deliberation and
with none too much technical skill. They sought neither wealth nor the
luxuries it brings; but, rather, welcomed hardship, as apt to chasten the
spirit; and never felt themselves so thoroughly about their proper
business as when they were assembled in the foursquare little log hut
which they had consecrated as the house of God. Boston and Salem grew:
they were larger and more commodious at the end of the twelvemonth than
they had been at its beginning; but more cannot be said. Sickness,
misfortune, and scarcity handicapped the settlers; many died; the yield of
their crops was wholly inadequate to their needs; servants whose work was
indispensable could not be paid, and were set free to work for themselves,
and the outlook was in all respects gloomy. If the enterprise was to be
saved, the Lord must speedily send succor.

The Lord did not forget His people. A great relief was already preparing
for them, and the way of it was thus.--

The record of the former chartered companies had shown that conducting
the affairs of colonists on the other side of the ocean was attended with
serious difficulties on both parts. The colonists could not make their
needs known with precision enough, or in season, to have them adequately
met; and the governing company was unable to get a close knowledge of its
business, or to explain and enforce its requirements. Furthermore, there
was liable to be continual vexatious interference on the part of the king
and his officers, detrimental to the welfare of colonists and company
alike.

The men who constituted the Massachusetts Company were not concerned
respecting the pecuniary profits of the venture, inasmuch as they looked
only for the treasures which moth nor rust can corrupt; their "plantation"
was to the glory of God, not to the imbursement of man. Nor were they
anxious to impose their will upon the emigrants, or solicitous lest the
latter should act unseemly; for the men who were there were of the same
character and aim as those who were in England, and there could be no
differences between them beyond such as might legitimately arise as to the
most expedient way of reaching a given end. But the Company could easily
apprehend that the king and his ministers might meddle with their projects
and bring them to naught; and since those affairs, unlike mercantile ones,
were not of a nature to admit of compromise, they earnestly desired to
prevent this contingency.

Debating the matter among themselves, the leaders of the organization
conceived the idea of establishing the headquarters of the Company in the
midst of the emigrants in America: of becoming, in other words, emigrants
themselves, and working side by side with their brethren for the common
good. This plan offered manifest attractions; it would remove them from
unwelcome propinquity to the Court, would be of great assistance to the
work to do which the Company was formed, would give them the satisfaction
of feeling that they were giving their hands as well as their hearts to
the service of God, and, not least, would give notice to all the Puritans
in England, now a great and influential body, that America was the most
suitable ground for their earthly sojourning.

These considerations determined them; and it remained only to put the
plan into execution. Twelve men of wealth and education, eminent among
whom was John Winthrop, the future governor of the little commonwealth,
met and exchanged solemn vows that, if the transference could legally be
accomplished, they would personally voyage to New England and take up
their permanent residence there. The question was shortly after put to the
general vote, and unanimously agreed to; a commercial corporation (as
ostensibly the Company was) created itself the germ of an independent
commonwealth; and on October 20th John Winthrop was chosen governor for
the ensuing twelvemonth; money was subscribed to defray expenses; as
speedily as possible ships were chartered or purchased; the numbers of the
members of the Company were increased, and their resources augmented, by
the addition of many outside persons in harmony with the movement, and
willing to support it with their fortunes and themselves; and by the early
spring of 1630 a fleet of no less than seventeen ships, accommodating
nearly a thousand emigrants representing the very best blood and brain of
England, was ready to sail.

At the moment of departing, there was a quailing of the spirit on the
part of some of the emigrants; but Winthrop comforted them; he told them
that they must "keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace"; that,
in the wilderness, they would see more of God than they could in England;
and that their plantation should be of such a quality as that the founders
of future plantations should pray that "The Lord make it likely that of
New England." These were good words. Nevertheless, there were not a few
seceders, and it was not till the year had advanced that the full number
of vessels found their way to the port of Boston. But eleven ships,
including the Arbella which bore Winthrop, sailed at once, with seven
hundred men and women, and every appliance that experience and forethought
could suggest for the convenience and furtherance of life in a new
country. Their going made a deep impression throughout England.

And well it might! For these people were not unknown and rude, like the
Plymouth Pilgrims; they were not fiercely intolerant fanatics, whose
sincerity might be respected, but whose company must be irksome to all
less extreme than themselves. They were of gentle blood and training;
persons whose acquaintance was a privilege; who added to the richness and
charm of social life. That people of this kind should remove themselves to
the wilderness meant much more, to the average mind, than that religious
outcasts like the Pilgrims should do so. For the latter, one place might
be as good as another; but that the others should give up their homes and
traditions for the hardships and isolation of such an existence seemed
incomprehensible; and when no other motive could be found than that which
they professed--"the honor of God"--grave thoughts could not but be
awakened. The sensation was somewhat the same as if, in our day, a hundred
thousand of the most favorably known and highly endowed persons in the
country were to remove to Chinese Tartary to escape from the corruption
and frivolity of business and social life, and to create an ideal
community in the desert. We could smile at such a hegira if Tom, Dick and
Harry were concerned in it; but if the men and women of light and leading
abandon us, the implied indictment is worth heeding.

The personal character and nature of Winthrop are well known, and may
serve as a type for the milder aspect of his companions. He was of a
gentle and conciliating temper, affectionate, and prizing the affection of
others. There was a certain sweetness about him, a tendency to mild
joyousness, a desire to harmonize all conflicts, a disposition to think
good, that good might come of it. He was indisposed to violence in opinion
as much as in act; he believed that love was the fulfilling of the law,
and would dissolve opposition to the law, if it were allowed time and
opportunity. His cultivated intellect recognized a certain inevitableness,
or preordained growth in mortal affairs, which made him sympathetic even
toward those who differed from him, for did they not use the best light
they had? He conformed to the English church, and yet he absented himself
from England, not being willing to condemn the orthodox ritual, yet
feeling that the Gospel in its purity could be more intimately enjoyed in
America. He was no believer in the theory of democratic equality; it
seemed to him contrary to natural order; there were degrees and gradations
in all things, men included; there were those fitted to govern, and those
fitted to serve; power should be in the hands of the few, but they should
be "the wisest of the best." He had no doubts as to the obligations of
loyalty to the King, and yet he gave up home and ease to live where the
King was a sentiment rather than a fact. But beneath all this engaging
softness there was strength in Winthrop; the fiber of him was fine, but it
was of resolute temper. Simple goodness is one of the mightiest of powers,
and he was good in all simplicity. He could help his servants in the
humblest household drudgery, and yet preserve the dignity befitting the
Governor of the people. He was not a man to be bullied or terrified, but
his wisdom and forbearance disarmed an enemy, and thus removed all need of
fighting him. He dominated those around him spontaneously and
involuntarily; they, as it were, insisted upon being led by him, and
commanded him to exact their obedience. His influence was purifying,
encouraging, uplifting, and upon the whole conservative; had he lived a
hundred years later, he would not have been found by the side of Adams,
Patrick Henry, and James Otis. Sympathy and courtesy made him seem
yielding; yet, like a tree that bends to the breeze, he still maintained
his place, and was less changeable than many whose stubbornness did not
prevent their drifting. His insight and intelligence may have enabled him
to foresee to what a goal the New England settlers were bound; but though
he would have sympathized with them, he would not have been swayed to join
them. As it was, he wrought only good to them, for they were in the
formative stage, when moderation helps instead of hindering. He mediated
between the state they were approaching, and that from which they came,
and he died before the need of alienating himself from them arrived. His
resoluteness was shown in his resistance to Anne Hutchinson and her
supporter, Sir Harry Vane, who professed the heresy that faith absolved
from obedience to the moral law; they were forced to quit the colony; and
so was Roger Williams, as lovely as and in some respects a loftier
character than Winthrop. In reviewing the career of this distinguished and
engaging man, we are surprised that he should have found it on his
conscience to leave England. Endicott was born to subdue the wilderness,
and so was many another of the Puritans; but it seems as if Winthrop might
have done and said in King Charles's palace all that he did and said in
Massachusetts, without offense. But it is probable that his moderation
appears greater in the primitive environment than it would have done in
the civilized one; and again, the impulse to restrain others from excess
may have made him incline more than he would otherwise have done toward
the other side.

But tradition has too much disposed us to think of the Puritans as of men
who had thrown aside all human tenderness and sympathy, and were sternly
and gloomily preoccupied with the darker features of religion exclusively.
Winthrop corrects this judgment; he was a Puritan, though he was sunny and
gentle; and there were many others who more or less resembled him. The
reason that the somber type is the better known is partly because of its
greater picturesqueness and singularity, and partly because the early life
of New England was on the whole militant and aggressive, and therefore
brought the rigid and positive qualities more prominently forward.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the piety of the dominating powers in
Massachusetts during the first years of the colony's existence. It was
almost a mysticism. That intimate and incommunicable experience which is
sometimes called "getting religion"--the Lord knocking at the door of the
heart and being admitted--was made the condition of admission to the
responsible offices of government. This was to make God the ruler, through
instruments chosen by Himself--theoretically a perfect arrangement, but in
practice open to the gravest perils. It not merely paved the way to
imposture, but invited it; and the most dangerous imposture is that which
imposes on the impostor himself. It created an oligarchy of the most
insidious and unassailable type: a communion of earthly "saints," who
might be, and occasionally were, satans at heart. It is essentially at
variance with democracy, which it regards as a surrender to the selfish
license of the lowest range of unregenerate human nature; and yet it is
incompatible with hereditary monarchy, because the latter is based on
uninspired or mechanical selection. The writings of Cotton Mather exhibit
the peculiarities and inconsistencies of Puritanism in the most favorable
and translucent light, for Mather was himself wedded to them, and of a
most inexhaustible fertility in their exposition.

Winthrop was responsible for the "Oath of Fidelity," which required its
taker to suffer no attempt to change or alter the government contrary to
its laws; and for the law excluding from the freedom of the body politic
all who were not members of its church communion. The people, however,
stipulated that the elections should be annual, and each town chose two
representatives to attend the court of assistants. But having thus
asserted their privileges, they forbore to interfere with the judgment of
their leaders, and maintained them in office. The possible hostility of
England, the strangeness and dangers of their surroundings in America, and
the appalling prevalence of disease and mortality among them, possibly
drove them to a more than normal fervor of piety. Since God was so
manifestly their only sword and shield, and was reputed to be so terrible
and implacable in His resentments, it behooved them to omit no means of
conciliating His favor.

Winthrop found anything but a land flowing with milk and honey, when he
arrived at Salem, where the ships first touched. As when, twenty years
before, Delaware came to Jamestown, the people were on the verge of
starvation, and it was necessary to send a vessel back to England for
supplies. There were acute suffering and scarcity all along the New
England coast, and though the spirit of resignation was there, it seemed
likely that there would be soon little flesh left through which to
manifest it. The physical conditions were intolerable. The hovels in which
the people were living were wretched structures of rough logs, roofed with
straw, with wooden chimneys and narrow and darksome interiors. They were
patched with bark and rags; many were glad to lodge themselves in tents
devised of fragments of drapery hung on a framework of boughs. The
settlement was in that transition state between crude wilderness and
pioneer town, when the appearance is most repulsive and disheartening.
There is no order, uniformity, or intelligent procedure. There is a clump
of trees of the primeval forest here, the stumps and litter of a half-made
clearing there, yonder a patch of soil newly and clumsily planted; wigwams
and huts alternate with one another; men are digging, hewing, running to
head back straying cattle, toiling in with fragments of game on their
shoulders; yonder a grave is being dug in the root-encumbered ground, and
hard by a knot of mourners are preparing the corpse for interment. There
is no rest or comfort anywhere for eye or heart. The only approximately
decent dwelling in Salem at this time was that of John Endicott. Higginson
was dying of a fever. Lady Arbella, who had accompanied her husband, Isaac
Johnson, had been ailing on the voyage, and lingered here but a little
while before finding a grave. In a few months two hundred persons
perished. It was no place for weaklings--or for evil-doers either; among
the earliest of the established institutions were the stocks and the
whipping-post, and they were not allowed to stand idle.

Winthrop and most of the others soon moved on down the coast toward
Boston. It had been the original intention to keep the emigrants in one
body, but that was found impracticable; they were forced to divide up into
small parties, who settled where they best could, over an area of fifty or
a hundred miles. Nantasket, Watertown, Charlestown, Saugus, Lynn, Maiden,
Roxbury, all had their handfuls of inhabitants. It was exile within exile;
for miles meant something in these times. More than a hundred of the
emigrants, cowed by the prospect, deserted the cause and returned to
England. Yet Winthrop and the other leaders did not lose heart, and their
courage and tranquillity strengthened the others. It is evidence of the
indomitable spirit of these people that one of their first acts was to
observe a day of fasting and prayer; a few days later the members of the
congregation met and chose their pastor, John Wilson, and organized the
first Church of Boston. They did not wait to build the house of God, but
met beneath the trees, or gathered round a rock which might serve the
preacher as a pulpit. There was simplicity enough to satisfy the most
conscientious. "We here enjoy God and Jesus Christ," wrote Winthrop: "I do
not repent my coming: I never had more content of mind."

After a year there were but a thousand settlers in Massachusetts. Among
them was Roger Williams, a man so pure and true as of himself to hallow
the colony; but it is illustrative of the intolerance which was from the
first inseparable from Puritanism, that he was driven away because he held
conscience to be the only infallible guide. We cannot blame the Puritans;
they had paid a high price for their faith, and they could not but guard
it jealously. Their greatest peril seemed to them to be dissension or
disagreements on points of belief; except they held together, their whole
cause was lost. Williams was no less an exile for conscience' sake than
they; but as he persisted in having a conscience strictly his own, instead
of pooling it with that of the church, they were constrained to let him
go. They did not perceive, then or afterward, that such action argued
feeble faith. They could not, after all, quite trust God to take care of
His own; they dared not believe that He could reveal Himself to others as
well as to them; they feared to admit that they could have less than the
whole truth in their keeping. So they banished, whipped, pilloried, and
finally even hanged dissenters from their dissent. We, whose religious
tolerance is perhaps as excessive as theirs was deficient, are slow to
excuse them for this; but they believed they were fighting for much more
than their lives; and as for faith in God, it is surely no worse to fall
into error regarding it than to dismiss it altogether.

In a community where the integrity of the church was the main subject of
concern, it could not be long before religious conservatism would be
reflected in the political field. Representative government was conceded
in theory; but in practice, Winthrop and others thought that it would be
better ignored; the people could not easily meet for deliberations, and
how could their affairs be in better hands than those of the saints, who
already had charge of them? But the people declined to surrender their
liberties; there should be rotation in office; voting should be by ballot
instead of show of hands. Taxation was restricted; and in 1635 there was
agitation for a written constitution; and the relative authority of the
deputies and the assistants was in debate. Our national predisposition to
"talk politics" had already been born.

Among these early inconsistencies and disagreements Roger Williams stood
out as the sole fearless and logical figure. Consistency and bravery were
far from being his only good qualities; in drawing his portrait, the
difficulty is to find shadows with which to set off the lights of his
character. The Puritans feared the world, and even their own constancy;
Williams feared nothing; but he would reverence and obey his conscience as
the voice of God in his breast, before which all other voices must be
hushed. He was not only in advance of his time: he was abreast of any
times; nothing has ever been added to or detracted from his argument. When
John Adams wrote to his son, John Quincy Adams, "Your conscience is the
Minister Plenipotentiary of God Almighty placed in your breast: see to it
that this minister never negotiates in vain," he did but attire in the
diplomatic phraseology which came naturally to him the thought which
Williams had avouched and lived more than a century before. Though
absolutely radical, Williams was never an extremist; he simply went to the
fountain-head of reason and truth, and let the living waters flow whither
they might. The toleration which he demanded he always gave; of those who
had most evilly entreated him he said, "I did ever from my soul honor and
love them, even when their judgment led them to afflict me." His long life
was one of the most unalloyed triumphs of unaided truth and charity that
our history records; and the State which he founded presented, during his
lifetime, the nearest approach to the true Utopia which has thus far been
produced.

Roger Williams was a Welshman, born in 1600, and dying, in the community
which he had created, eighty-five years later. His school was the famous
Charterhouse; his University, Cambridge; and he took orders in the Church
of England. But the protests of the Puritans came to his ears before he
was well installed; and he examined and meditated upon them with all the
quiet power of his serene and penetrating mind. It was not long before he
saw that truth lay with the dissenting party; and, like Emerson long
afterward, he at once left the communion in which he had thought to spend
his life. He came to Massachusetts in 1631, and, as we have seen, was not
long in discovering that he was more Puritan than the Puritans. When
differences arose, he departed to the Plymouth Colony, and there abode for
several useful years.

But though the men of Boston and Salem feared him, they loved him and
recognized his ability; indeed, they never could rid themselves of an
uneasy sense that in all their quarrels it was he who had the best of the
argument; they were often reduced to pleading necessity or expediency,
when he replied with plain truth. He responded to an invitation to return
to Salem, in 1633, by a willing acceptance; but no sooner had he arrived
than a discussion began which continued until he was for the second and
final time banished in 1636. The main bone of contention was the right of
the church to interfere in state matters. He opposed theocracy as
profaning the holy peace of the temple with the warring of civil parties.
The Massachusetts magistrates were all church members, which Williams
declared to be as unreasonable as to make the selection of a pilot or a
physician depend upon his proficiency in theology. He would not admit the
warrant of magistrates to compel attendance at public worship; it was a
violation of natural right, and an incitement to hypocrisy. "But the ship
must have a pilot," objected the magistrates, "And he holds her to her
course without bringing his crew to prayer in irons," was Williams's
rejoinder. "We must protect our people from corruption and punish heresy,"
said they. "Conscience in the individual can never become public property;
and you, as public trustees, can own no spiritual powers," answered he.
"May we not restrain the church from apostasy?" they asked. He replied,
"No: the common peace and liberty depend upon the removal of the yoke of
soul-oppression."

The magistrates were perplexed, and doubtful what to do. Laud in England
was menacing them with episcopacy, and they, as a preparation for
resistance, decreed that all freemen must take an oath of allegiance to
Massachusetts instead of to the King. Williams, of course, abhorred
episcopacy as much as they did; but he would not concede the right to
impose a compulsory oath. A deputation of ministers was sent to Salem to
argue with him: he responded by counseling them to admonish the
magistrates of their injustice. He was cited to appear before the state
representatives to recant; he appeared, but only to affirm that he was
ready to accept banishment or death sooner than be false to his
convictions. Sentence of banishment was thereupon passed against him, but
he was allowed till the ensuing spring to depart; meanwhile, however, the
infection of his opinions spreading in Salem, a warrant was sent to summon
him to embark for England; but he, anticipating this step, was already on
his way through the winter woods southward.

The pure wine of his doctrine was too potent for the iron-headed
Puritans. But it was their fears rather than their hearts that dismissed
him; those who best knew him praised him most unreservedly; and even
Cotton Mather admitted that he seemed "to have the root of the matter in
him."

Williams's journey through the pathless snows and frosts of an
exceptionally severe winter is one of the picturesque and impressive
episodes of the times. During more than three months he pursued his lonely
and perilous way; hollow trees were a welcome shelter; he lacked fire,
food and guides. But he had always pleaded in behalf of the Indians; he
had on one occasion denied the validity of a royal grant unless it were
countersigned by native proprietors; and during his residence in Plymouth
he had learned the Indian language. All this now stood him in good stead.
The man who was outcast from the society of his white brethren, because
his soul was purer and stronger than theirs, was received and ministered
unto by the savages; he knew their ways, was familiar in their wigwams,
championed their rights, wrestled lovingly with their errors, mediated in
their quarrels, and was idolized by them as was no other of his race.
Pokanoket, Massasoit and Canonicus were his hosts and guardians during the
winter and spring; and in summer he descended the river in a birch-bark
canoe to the site of the present city of Providence, so named by him in
recognition of the Divine mercies; and there he pitched his tent beside
the spring, hoping to make the place "a shelter for persons distressed for
conscience."

His desire was amply fulfilled. The chiefs of the Narragansetts deeded
him a large tract of land; oppressed persons locked to him for comfort and
succor, and never in vain; a republic grew up based on liberty of
conscience, and the civil rule of the majority: the first in the world.
Orthodoxy and heresy were on the same footing before him; he trusted truth
to conquer error without aid of force. Though he ultimately withdrew from
all churches, he founded the first Baptist church in the new world; he
twice visited England, and obtained a charter for his colony in 1644.
Williams from first to last sat on the Opposition Bench of life; and we
say of him that he was hardly used by those who should most have honored
him. Yet it is probable that he would have found less opportunity to do
good at either an earlier or a later time. Critics so keen and unrelenting
as he never find favor with the ruling powers; he would have been at least
as "impossible" in the Nineteenth Century as he was in the Seventeenth;
and we would have had no Rhode Island to give him. We can derive more
benefit from his arraignment of society two hundred and fifty years ago
than we should were he to call us to account to-day, because no resentment
mingles with our intellectual appreciation: our withers seem to be
unwrung. The crucifixions of a former age are always denounced by those
who, if the martyr fell into their hands, would be the first to nail him
to the cross.

But the Puritanism of Williams, and that of those who banished him, were
as two branches proceeding from a single stem; their differences, which
were the type of those that created two parties in the community, were the
inevitable result of the opposition between the practical and the
theoretic temperaments. This opposition is organic; it is irreconcilable,
but nevertheless wholesome; both sides possess versions of the same truth,
and the perfect state arises from the contribution made by both to the
common good--not from their amalgamation, or from a compromise between
them, Williams's community was successful, but it was successful, on the
lines he laid down, only during its minority; as its population increased,
civil order was assured by a tacit abatement of the right of individual
independence, and by the insensible subordination of particular to general
interests. In Massachusetts, on the other hand, which from the first
inclined to the practical view--which recognized the dangers surrounding
an organization weak in physical resources, but strong in spiritual
conviction, and which, by reason of the radical nature of those
convictions, was specially liable to interference from the settled power
of orthodoxy:--in Massachusetts there was a diplomatic tendency in the
work of building up the commonwealth. The integrity of Williams's logic
was conceded, but to follow it out to its legitimate conclusions was
deemed inconsistent with the welfare and continuance of the popular
institutions. The condemnation of dissenters from dissent sounded unjust;
but it was the alternative to the more far-reaching injustice of suffering
the structure which had been erected with such pains and sacrifice to fall
to pieces just when it was attaining form and character. The time for
universal toleration might come later, when the vigor and solidity of the
nucleus could no longer be vitiated by fanciful and transient vagaries.
The right of private judgment carried no guarantee comparable with that
which attached to the sober and tested convictions of the harmonious body
of responsible citizens.

When, therefore, the young Henry Vane, coming to Boston with the prestige
of aristocratic birth and the reputation of liberal opinions, was elected
Governor in 1635, and presently laid down the principle that "Ishmael
shall dwell in the presence of his brethren," he at once met with
opposition; and he and Anne Hutchinson, and other visionaries and
enthusiasts, were made to feel that Boston was no place for them. Yet at
the same time there was a conflict between the body of the freemen and the
magistrates as to the limits and embodiments of the governing power; the
magistrates contended that there were manifest practical advantages in
life appointments to office, and in the undisturbed domination of men of
approved good life and intellectual ability; the people replied that all
that might be true, but they would still insist upon electing and
dismissing whom they pleased. Thus was inadvertently demonstrated the
invincible security of democratic principles; the masses are always
willing to agree that the best shall rule, but insist that they, the
multitude, and not any Star Chamber, no matter how impeccable, shall
decide who the best are. Herein alone is safety. The masses, of course,
are not actuated by motives higher than those of the select few; but their
impartiality cannot but be greater, because, assuming that each voter has
in view his personal welfare, their ballots must insure the welfare of the
majority. And if the welfare of the majority be God's will, then the truth
of the old Latin maxim, Vox Populi vox Dei, is vindicated without any
recourse to mysticism. The only genuine Aristocracy, or Rule of the Best,
must in other words be the creation not of their own will and judgment,
but of those of the subjects of their administration.

The political experiments and vicissitudes of these early times are of
vastly greater historical importance than are such external episodes, as,
for example, the Pequot war in 1637. A whole tribe was exterminated, and
thereby, and still more by the heroic action of Williams in preventing, by
his personal intercession, an alliance between the Pequots and the
Narragansetts, the white colonies were preserved. But beyond this, the
affair has no bearing upon the development of the American idea. During
these first decades, the most profound questions of national statesmanship
were discussed in the assemblies of the Massachusetts Puritans, with an
acumen and wisdom which have never been surpassed. The equity and solidity
of most of their conclusions are extraordinary; the intellectual ability
of the councilors being purged and exalted by their ardent religious
faith. The "Body of Liberties," written out in 1641 by Nathaniel Ward,
handles the entire subject of popular government in a masterly manner. It
was a Counsel of Perfection molded, by understanding of the prevailing
conditions, into practical form. The basis of its provisions was the
primitive one which is traced back to the time when the Anglo-Saxon tribes
met to choose their chiefs or to decide on war or other matters of general
concern. It was the basis suggested by nature; for, as the chief historian
of these times has remarked, freedom is spontaneous, but the artificial
distinctions of rank are the growth of centuries. Lands, according to this
instrument, were free and alienable; the freemen of a corporation held
them, but claimed no right of distribution. There should be no monopolies:
no wife-beating: no slavery "Except voluntary": ministers as well as
magistrates should be chosen by popular vote. Authority was given to
approved customs; the various towns or settlements constituting the
commonwealth were each a living political organism. No combination of
churches should control any one church:--such were some of the provisions.
The colonies were availing themselves of the unique opportunity afforded
by their emancipation, in the wilderness, from the tyranny and obstruction
of old-world traditions and licensed abuses.

By the increasing body of their brethren in England, meanwhile, New
England was looked upon as a sort of New Jerusalem, and letters from the
leaders were passed from hand to hand like messages from saints. Up to the
time when Charles and Laud were checked by Parliament, the tide of
emigration set so strongly toward the American shores that measures were
taken by the King to arrest it; by 1638, there were in New England more
than twenty-one thousand colonists. The rise of the power of Parliament
stopped the influx; but the succeeding twenty years of peace gave the
much-needed chance for quiet and well-considered growth and development.
The singular prudence and foresight of Winthrop and others in authority,
during this interregnum, was showed by their declining to accept certain
apparent advantages proffered them in love and good faith by their English
friends. A new patent was offered them in place of their royal charter;
but the colonists perceived that the reign of Parliament was destined to
be temporary, and wisely refused. Other suggestions, likely to lead to
future entanglements, were rejected; among them, a proposition from
Cromwell that they should all come over and occupy Ireland. This is as
curious as that other alleged incident of Cromwell and Hampden having been
stopped by Laud when they had embarked for New England, and being forced
to remain in the country which soon after owed to them its freedom from
kingly and episcopal tyranny.

Material prosperity began to show itself in the new country, now that the
first metaphysical problems were in the way of settlement. In Salem they
were building ships, cotton was manufactured in Boston; the export trade
in furs and other commodities was brisk and profitable. The English
Parliament passed a law exempting them from taxes. After so much
adversity, fortune was sending them a gleam of sunshine, and they were
making their hay. But something of the arrogance of prosperity must also
be accredited to them; the Puritans were never more bigoted and intolerant
than now. The persecution of the Quakers is a blot on their fame, only
surpassed by the witchcraft cruelties of the concluding years of the
century. Mary Dyar, and the men Robinson, Stephenson and Leddra were
executed for no greater crime than obtruding their unwelcome opinions, and
outraging the propriety of the community. The fate of Christison hung for
a while in the balance; he was not less guilty than the others, and he
defied his judges; he told them that where they murdered one, ten others
would arise in his place; the same words that had been heard many a time
in England, when the Puritans themselves were on their trial. Nevertheless
the judges passed the sentence of death; but the people were disturbed by
such bloody proceedings, and Christison was finally set free. It must not
be forgotten that the Quakers of this period were very different from
those who afterward populated the City of Brotherly Love under Penn. They
were fanatics of the most extravagant and incorrigible sort; loud-mouthed,
frantic and disorderly; and instead of observing modesty in their garb,
their women not seldom ran naked through the streets of horrified Boston,
in broad daylight. They thirsted for persecution as ordinary persons do
for wealth or fame, and would not be satisfied till they had provoked
punishment. The granite wall of Puritanism seemed to exist especially for
them to dash themselves against it. Such persons can hardly be deemed
sane; and it is of not the slightest importance what particular creed they
profess. They are opposed to authority and order because they are
authority and order; in our day, we group such folk under the name,
Anarchists; but, instead of hanging them as the Puritans did, we let them
froth and threaten, according to the policy of Roger Williams, until the
lack of echoes leads them to hold their peace.

Although slavery, or perpetual servitude, was forbidden by the statute,
there were many slaves in New England, Indians and whites as well as
negroes. The first importation of the latter was in 1619, by the Dutch, it
is said. No slave could be kept in bondage more than ten years; it was
stipulated that they were to be brought from Africa, or elsewhere, only
with their own consent; and when, in 1638, it appeared that a cargo of
them had been forcibly introduced, they were sent back to Africa.
Prisoners of war were condemned to servitude; and, altogether, the feeling
on the subject of human bondage appears to have been both less and more
fastidious than it afterward became. There was no such indifference as was
shown in the Southern slave trade two centuries later, nor was there any
of the humanitarian fanaticism exhibited by the extreme Abolitionists of
the years before the Civil War. It may turn out that the attitude of the
Puritans had more common-sense in it than had either of the others.

The great event of 1643 was the natural outcome of the growth and
expansion of the previous time. It was the federation of the four colonies
of Massachusetts, Plymouth, New Haven, and Connecticut. Connecticut had
been settled in 1680, but it was not till six years afterward that a party
headed by the renowned Thomas Hooker, the "Son of Thunder," and one of the
most judicious men of that age, journeyed from Boston with the deliberate
purpose of creating another commonwealth in the desert. Connecticut did
not offer assurances of a peaceful settlement; the Indians were numerous
there, and not well-disposed; and in the south, the Dutch of New Amsterdam
were complaining of an infringement of boundaries. These ominous
conditions came to a head in the Pequot war; after which peace reigned for
many years. A constitution of the most liberal kind was created by the
settlers, some of the articles of which led to a correspondence between
Hooker and Winthrop as to the comparative merits of magisterial and
popular governments. Unlearned men, however religious, if elected to
office, must needs call in the assistance of the learned ministers, who,
thus burdened with matters not rightly within their function, might err in
counseling thereon. Of the people, the best part was always the least, and
of that best, the wiser is the lesser.--This was Winthrop's position.
Hooker replied that to allow discretion to the judge was the way to
tyranny. Seek the law at its mouth; it is free from passion, and should
rule the rulers themselves; let the judge do according to the sentence of
the law. In high matters, business should be done by a general council,
chosen by all, as was the practice of the Jewish and other well-ordered
states.--This is an example of the political discussions of that day in
New England; both parties to it concerned solely to come at the truth, and
free from any selfish aim or pride. The soundness of Hooker's view may be
deduced from the fact that the constitution of Connecticut (which differed
in no essential respect from those of the other colonies) has survived
almost unchanged to the present day. Statesmanship, during two and a half
centuries, has multiplied details and improved the nicety of adjustments;
but it has not discerned any principles which had not been seen with
perfect distinctness by the clear and venerable eyes of the Puritan
fathers.

Eaton, another man of similar caliber, was the leading spirit in the New
Haven settlement, assisted by the Reverend Mr. Davenport; many of the
colonists were Second-Adventists, and they called the Bible their
Statute-Book. The date of their establishment was 1638. The incoherent
population of Rhode Island caused it to be excluded from the federation;
but Williams, journeying to London, obtained a patent from the exiled but
now powerful Vane, and took as the motto of his government, "Amor Vincet
Omnia." New Hampshire, which had been united to Massachusetts in 1641,
could have no separate part in the new arrangement; and Maine, an
indeterminate region, sparsely inhabited by people who had come to seek
not God, but fish in the western world, was not considered. The articles
of federation of the four Calvinist colonies aimed to provide mutual
protection against the Indians, against possible encroachment from
England, against Dutch and French colonists: they declared a league not
only for defense and offense, but for the promotion of spiritual truth and
liberty. Nothing was altered in the constitutions of any of the
contracting parties; and an equitable system of apportioning expenses was
devised. Each partner sent two delegates to the common council; all
affairs proper to the federation were determined by a three-fourths vote;
a law for the delivery of fugitive slaves was agreed to; and the
commissioners of the other jurisdictions were empowered to coerce any
member of the federation which should break this contract. The title of
The United Colonies of New England was bestowed upon the alliance. The
articles were the work of a committee of the leading men in the country,
such as Winthrop, Winslow, Haynes and Eaton; and the confederacy lasted
forty years, being dissolved in 1684.

It was a great result from an experiment begun only about a dozen years
before. It was greater even, than its outward seeming, for it contained
within itself the forces which should control the future. This country is
made up of many elements, and has been molded to no small extent by
circumstances hardly to be foreseen; but it seems incontestable that it
would never have endured, and continued to be the goal of all pilgrims who
wish to escape from a restricted to a freer life, had not its corner-stone
been laid, and its outline fixed, by these first colonists of New England.
It has been calculated that in two hundred years the physical increase of
each Puritan family was one thousand persons, dispersed over the territory
of the United States; and the moral influence which this posterity exerted
on the various communities in which they fixed their abode is beyond
computation. But had the Puritan fathers been as ordinary men: had they
come hither for ends of gain and aggrandizement: had they not been united
by the most inviolable ties that can bind men--community in religious
faith, brotherhood in persecution for conscience' sake, and an intense,
inflexible enthusiasm for liberty--their descendants would have had no
spiritual inheritance to disseminate. Many superficial changes have come
upon our society; there is an absence of a fixed national type; there are
many thousands of illiterate persons among us, and of those who are still
ignorant of the true nature of democratic institutions; all the tongues of
Europe and of other parts of the world may be heard within our boundaries;
there are great bodies of our citizens who selfishly pursue ends of
private enrichment and power, indifferent to the patent fact that
multitudes of their fellows are thereby obstructed in the effort to earn a
livelihood in this most productive country in the world; there are many
who have prostituted the name of statesmanship to the gratification of
petty and transient ambitions: and many more who, relieved by the thrift
of their ancestors from the necessity to win their bread, have renounced
all concern in the welfare of the state, and live trivial and empty lives:
all this, and more, may be conceded. But such evil humors, be it repeated,
are superficial, attesting the vigor, rather than the decay, of the
central vitality. America still stands for an idea; there is in it an
immortal soul. It was by the Puritans of Massachusetts Bay that this soul
was implanted; to inspire it was their work. They experienced the
realities, they touched the core of things, us few men have ever done; for
they were born in an age when the world was awakening from the spiritual
slumber of more than fifteen hundred years, and upon its bewildered eyes
was breaking the splendor of a great new light. The Puritans were the
immediate heirs of the Reformation (so called; it might more truly have
been named the New Incarnation, since the outward modifications of visible
form were but the symptoms of a freshly-communicated informing
intelligence). It transfigured them; from men sunk in the gross and
sensual thoughts and aims of an irreligious and priest-ridden age--an age
which ate and drank and slept and fought, and kissed the feet of popes,
and maundered of the divine right of kings--from this sluggish degradation
it roused and transfigured the Englishmen who came to be known as
Puritans. It was a transfiguration, though its subjects were the uncouth,
almost grotesque figures which chronicle and tradition have made familiar
to us. For a people who were what the Puritans were before Puritanism,
cannot be changed by the Holy Ghost into angels of light; their stubborn
carnality will not evaporate like a mist; it clings to them, and being now
so discordant with the impulse within, an awkwardness and uncouthness
result, which suggest some strange hybrid: to the eye and ear, they are
unlovelier and harsher than they were before their illumination; but
Providence regards not looks; it knew what it was about when it chose
these men of bone and sinew to carry out its purposes. Once enlisted, they
never could be quelled, or seduced, or deceived, or wearied; they were in
fatal earnest, and faithful unto death, for they believed that God was
their Captain. They had got a soul; they put it into their work, and it is
in that work even to this day.

It does not manifestly appear to our contemporary vision; it is
overloaded with the rubbish of things, as a Greek statue is covered with
the careless debris of ages; but, as the art of the sculptor is vindicated
when the debris has been removed, so will the fair proportions of the
State conceived by the Puritans, and nourished and defended by their sons,
declare themselves when in the maturity of our growth we have assimilated
what is good in our accretions, and disencumbered ourselves of what is
vain. It is the American principle, and it will not down; it is a solvent
of all foreign substances; in its own way and time it dissipates all
things that are not harmonious with itself. No lesser or feebler principle
would have survived the tests to which this has been subjected; but this
is indestructible; even we could not destroy it if we would, for it is no
inalienable possession of our own, but a gift from on High to the whole of
mankind. But let us piously and proudly remember that it was through the
Puritans that the gift was made. Other nations than the English have
contributed to our substance and prosperity, and have yielded their best
blood to flow in our veins. They are dear to us as ourselves, as how
should they not be, since what, other than ourselves, are they? None the
less is it true that what was worthiest and most unselfish in the impulse
that drove them hither was a reflection of the same impulse that actuated
the Puritans when America was not the most powerful of republics, but a
wilderness. None of us all can escape from their greatness--from the debt
we owe them: not because they were Englishmen, not because they made New
England; but because they were men, inspired of God to make the earth free
that was in bondage.



CHAPTER FOURTH

FROM HUDSON TO STUYVESANT


There are two scenes in the career of Henry Hudson which can never be
forgotten by Americans. One is in the first week in September, 1609. A
little vessel, of eighty tons, is lying on the smooth waters of a large
harbor. She has the mounded stern and bluff bows of the ships of that day;
one of her masts has evidently been lately stepped; the North American
pine of which it is made shows the marks of the ship-carpenter's ax, and
the whiteness of the fresh wood. The square sails have been rent, and
mended with seams and patches; the sides and bulwarks of the vessel have
been buffeted by heavy seas off the Newfoundland coast; the paint and
varnish which shone on them as she dropped down the reaches of the Zuyder
Zee from Amsterdam, five months ago, have become whitened with salt and
dulled by fog and sun and driving spray. Across her stern, above the
rudder of massive oaken plank clamped with iron, is painted the name "HALF
MOON," in straggling letters. On her poop stands Henry Hudson, leaning
against the tiller; beside him is a young man, his son; along the bulwark
lounge the crew, half Englishmen, half Dutch; broad-beamed, salted tars,
with pigtails and rugged visages, who are at home in Arctic fields and in
Equatorial suns, and who now stare out toward the low shores to the north
and west, and converse among themselves in the nameless jargon--the rude
compromise between guttural Dutch, and husky English--which has served
them as a medium of communication during the long voyage. It is a good
harbor, they think, and a likely country. They are impatient for the
skipper to let them go ashore, and find out what grows in the woods.

Meanwhile the great navigator, supporting himself, with folded arms,
against the creaking tiller, absorbs the scene through his deep-set eyes
in silence. Many a haven had he visited in his time; he had been within
ten degrees of the North Pole; he had seen the cliffs of Spitzbergen loom
through the fog, and had heard the sound of Greenland glaciers breaking
into vast icebergs where they overhung the sea; he had lain in the
thronged ports of the Netherlands, where the masts cluster like naked
forests, and the commerce of the world seethes and murmurs continually; he
had dropped anchor in quiet English harbors, under cool gray skies, with
undulating English hills in the distance, and prosperous wharfs and busy
streets in front. He had sweltered, no doubt, beneath the heights of
Hong-Kong, amid a city of swarming junks; and further south had smelled
the breeze that blows through the straits of the Spice Islands. He knew
the surface of the earth, as a farmer knows his farm; but never, he
thought, had he beheld a softer and more inviting prospect than this which
spread before him now, mellowed by the haze of the mild September morning.

On all sides the shores were wooded to the water's edge: a giant forest,
unbroken, dense and tall, flourishing from its own immemorial decay,
matted with wild grape vine, choked with brush, wild as when the Creator
made it; untouched, since then. It was as remote--as lost to mankind--as
it was beautiful. The hum and turmoil of the civilized world was like the
memory of a dream in this tranquil region, where untrammeled nature had
worked her teeming will for centuries upon silent centuries. Here were
such peace and stillness that the cry of the blue jay seemed audacious;
the dive of a gull into the smooth water was a startling event. To the
imaginative mind of Hudson this spot seemed to have been set apart by
Providence, hidden away behind the sandy reaches of the outer coast, so
that irreverent man, who turns all things to gain, might never discover
and profane its august solitudes. Here the search for wealth was never to
penetrate; the only gold was in the tender sunshine, and in the foliage of
here and there a giant tree, which the distant approach of winter was
lulling into golden slumber. But then, with a sigh, he reflected that all
the earth was man's, and the fullness thereof; and that here too, perhaps,
would one day appear clearings in the primeval forest, and other vessels
would ride at anchor, and huts would peep out from beneath the
overshadowing foliage on the shores. But it was hard to conjure up such a
picture; it was difficult to imagine so untamed a wilderness subdued, in
ever so small a degree, by the hand of industry and commerce.

Northwestward, across the green miles of whispering leaves, the land
appeared to rise in long, level bluffs, still thronged with serried trees;
a great arm of the sea, a mile or two in breadth, extended east of north,
and thither, the mariner dreamed, might lie the long-sought pathway to the
Indies. A tongue of land, broadening as it receded, and swelling in low
undulations, divided this wide strait from a narrower one more to the
east. All was forest; and eastward still was more forest, stretching
seaward. Southward, the land was low--almost as low and flat as the
Netherlands themselves; an unexplored immensity, whose fertile soil had
for countless ages been hidden from the sun by the impervious shelter of
interlacing boughs. No--never had Hudson seen a land of such enduring
charm and measureless promise as this: and here, in this citadel of
loneliness, which no white man's foot had ever trod, which, till then,
only the eyes of the corsair Verrazano had seen, near a century before
--here was to arise, like Aladdin's Palace, the metropolis of the western
world; enormous, roaring, hurrying, trafficking, grasping, swarming with
its millions upon millions of striving, sleepless, dauntless, exulting,
despairing, aspiring human souls; the home of unbridled luxury, of abysmal
poverty, of gigantic industries, of insolent idleness, of genius, of
learning, of happiness and of misery; of far-reaching enterprise, of
political glory and shame, of science and art; here human life was to
reach its intensest, most breathless, relentless and insatiable
expression; here was to stand a city whose arms should reach westward over
a continent, and eastward round the world; here were to thunder the
streets and tower the buildings and reek the chimneys and arch the bridges
and rumble the railways and throb the electric wires of American New York,
the supreme product of Nineteenth Century civilization, radiant with the
virtues and grimy with the failings that mankind has up to this time
developed.

On the 23d of June, two years later, Henry Hudson was the central figure
in another scene. He sat in a small, open boat, hoary with frozen spray;
he was muffled in the shaggy hide of a white bear, roughly fashioned into
a coat; a sailor's oilskin hat was drawn down over his brow, and beneath
its rim his eyes gazed sternly out over a wide turbulence of gray waters,
tossing with masses of broken ice. His dark beard was grizzled with frost;
his cheeks were gaunt with the privations of a long, arctic winter spent
amid endless snows, in darkness unrelieved, smitten by storms, struggling
with savage beasts and harried by more inhuman men. He sat with his hand
at the helm; against his other shoulder leaned his son, his inseparable
companion, now sinking into unconsciousness; the six rowers--the stanch
comrades who, with him, had been thrust forth to perish by the mutineers
--plied their work heavily and hopelessly; their rigid jaws were set; no
words nor complaints broke from them, though was slowly settling round
their valiant hearts. Overhead brooded a somber vault of clouds; the
circle of the horizon, which seemed to creep in upon them, was one
unbroken sweep of icy dreariness, save where, to the southeast, the dark
hull of the "Discovery," and her pallid sails, rocked and leaned across
the sullen heave of the waters. She was bound for Europe; but whither is
Hudson bound?

His end befitted his life; he vanished into the unknown, as he had come
from it. There is no record of the time or place of his birth, or of his
early career, nor can any tell where lie his bones; we only know that his
limbs were made in England, and that the great inland sea, called after
him, ebbs and flows above his grave. He first comes into the ken of
history, sailing on the seas, resolute to discover virgin straits and
shores; and when we see him last, he is still toiling onward over the
waves, peering into the great mystery. Possibly, as has been suggested, he
may have been the descendant of the Hudson who was one of the founders of
the Muscovy Company, in whose service the famous navigator afterward
voyaged on various errands. It matters not; he lived, and did his work,
and is no more; his strong heart burned within him; he saw what none had
seen; he triumphed, and he was overcome. But the doubt that shrouds his
end has given him to legend, and the thunder that rolls brokenly among the
dark crags and ravines of the Catskills brings his name to the hearer's
lips.

The Dutch had had many opportunities offered to them to discover New
York, before they accepted the services of Henry Hudson, who was willing
to go out of his own country to find backers, so only that he might be
afloat. Almost every year, from 1581 onward, the mariners of the
Netherlands strove, by east and by west, to pass the barrier that America
interposed between them and the Eastern trade they coveted. The Dutch East
India Company was the first trading corporation of Europe; and after the
war with Spain, during the twelve years' truce, the little country was
overflowing with men eager to undertake any enterprise, and with money to
fit them out. The Netherlands suddenly bloomed out the most prosperous
country in the world.

They would not be hurried; they took their time to think it over, as
Dutchmen will; but at length they conceived an immense project for
acquiring all the trade, or the best part of it, of both the West and the
East. They studied the subject with the patient particularity of their
race; they outclassed Spain on the seas, and they believed they could
starve out her commerce. Some there were, however, who feared that in
finding new countries they would lose their own; Europe was again in a
turmoil, and they were again fighting Spain before New Amsterdam was
founded. But meanwhile, in 1609, quite inadvertently, Henry Hudson
discovered it for them at a moment when they supposed him to be battling
with freezing billows somewhere north of Siberia. When he was stopped by
Nova Zembla ice, he put about and crossed the Atlantic to Nova Scotia, and
so down the coast, as we have seen, to the Chesapeake, the Delaware, and
finally the Hudson. He told his tale in glowing words when he got back;
but the Dutch merchants perhaps fancied he was spinning sailors' yarns,
and heeded not his report till long after.

Hudson, after passing the Narrows, anchored near the Jersey shore, and
received a visit from some Indians with native commodities to exchange for
knives and beads. They presented the usual Indian aspect as regarded dress
and arms; but they wore ornaments of red copper under their feather
mantles, and carried pipes of copper and clay. They were affable, but
untrustworthy, stealing what they could lay their hands on, and a few days
later shooting arrows at a boatload of seamen from the ship, and killing
one John Colman. Hudson went ashore, and was honored with dances and
chants; upon the whole, the impression mutually created seems to have been
favorable. An abundance of beans and oysters was supplied to the crew; and
no doubt trade was carried on to the latter's advantage; we know that
years afterward the whole of Manhattan Island was purchased of its owners
for four-and-twenty dollars. The present inhabitants of New York City
could not be so easily overreached.

Hudson now began the first trip ever made by white men up the great
river. How many millions have made it since! But he, at this gentlest time
of year, won with the magic not only of what he saw, but of the unknown
that lay before him--what must have been his sensations! As reach after
reach of the incomparable panorama spread itself out quietly before him,
with its beauty of color, its majesty of form, its broad gleam of placid
current, the sheer lift of its brown cliffs, its mighty headlands setting
their titanic shoulders across his path, its toppling pinnacles assuming
the likeness of giant visages, its swampy meadows and inlets, lovely with
flowers and waving with rushes, its royal eagles stemming the pure air
aloft, its fish leaping in the ripples--and then, as he sailed on, mute
with enchantment, the blue magnificence of the mountains soaring
heavenward and melting into the clouds that hung about their summits--as
all this multifarious beauty unfolded itself, Hudson may well have thought
that the lost Eden of the earth was found at last. And ere long, he
dreamed, the vast walls through which the river moved would diverge and
cease, like another Pillars of Hercules, and his ship would emerge into
another ocean. It was verily a voyage to be remembered; and perhaps it
returned in a vision to his dimming eyes, that day he steered his open
boat through the arctic surges of Hudson's Bay.

For ten days or more he pressed onward before a southerly breeze, until,
in the neighborhood of what now is Albany, it became evident that the
Pacific was not to be found in northern New York. He turned, therefore,
and drifted slowly downward with the steady current, while the matchless
lines of the American autumn glowed every day more sumptuously from the
far-billowing woods. What sunrises and what sunsets dyed the waters with
liquid splendor: what moons, let us hope, turned the glories of day into
the spiritual mysteries of fairyland! Hudson was not born for repose; his
fate was to sail unrestingly till he died; but as he passed down through
this serene carnival of opulent nature, he may well have wished that here,
after all voyages were done, his lot might finally be cast; he may well
have wondered whether any race would be born so great and noble as to
merit the gift of such a river and such a land.

He landed at various places on the way, and was always civilly and
hospitably welcomed by the red men, who brought him their wild abundance,
and took in return what he chose to give. The marvelous richness of the
vegetation, and the vegetable decay of ages, had rendered the margins of
the stream as deadly as they were lovely; fever lurked in every glade and
bower, and serpents whose bite was death basked in the sun or crept among
the rocks. All was as it had always been; the red men, living in the midst
of nature, were a part of nature themselves; nothing was changed by their
presence; they altered not the flutter of a leaf or the posture of a
stone, but stole in and out noiseless and lithe, and left behind them no
trace of their passage. It is not so with the white man: before him,
nature flies and perishes; he clothes the earth in the thoughts of his own
mind, cast in forms of matter, and contemplates them with pride; but when
he dies, another comes, and refashions the materials to suit himself. So
one follows another, and nothing endures that man has made; for this is
his destiny. And at length, when the last man has dressed out his dolls
and built his little edifice of stones and sticks, and is gone: nature,
who was not dead, but sleeping, awakes, and resumes her ancient throne,
and her eternal works declare themselves once more; and she dissolves the
bones in the grave, and the grave itself vanishes, with its record of what
man had been. What says our poet?--

  "How am I theirs,
   When they hold not me,
   But I hold them?"

In 1613, or thereabout, Christianson and Block visited the harbor and got
furs, and also a couple of Indian boys to show the burghers of Amsterdam,
since they could not fetch the great river to Holland. In 1614 they went
again with five ships--the "Fortune of Amsterdam," the "Fortune of Hoorn,"
and the "Tiger of Amsterdam" (which was burned), and two others. Block
built himself a boat of sixteen tons, and explored the Sound, and the New
England coast as far as Massachusetts Bay; touched at the island known by
his name, and forgathered with the Indian tribes all along his route. The
explorers were granted a charter in the same year, giving them a three
years' monopoly of the trade, and in this charter the title New Netherland
is bestowed upon the region. The Dutch were at last bestirring themselves.
Two years after, Schouten of Hoorn saw the southernmost point of Tierra
del Fuego, and gave it the name of his home port as he swept by; and three
other Netherlanders penetrated to the wilds of Philadelphia that was to
be. A fortified trading post was built at Albany, where now legislation
instead of peltries is the subject of barter. At this juncture internal
quarrels in the Dutch government led to tragic events, which stimulated
plans of western colonization, and the desire to start a commonwealth on
Hudson River to forestall the English--for the latter as well as the Dutch
and Spanish claimed everything in sight. The Dutch East India Company
began business in 1621 with a twenty-four year charter, renewable. It was
given power to create an independent nation; the world was invited to buy
its stock, and the States-General invested a million guilders in it. Its
field was the entire west coast of Africa, and the east coast of North and
South America. Such schemes are of planetary magnificence; but of all this
realm, the Dutch now hold the little garden patch of Dutch Guiana only,
and the pleasant records of their sojourn on Manhattan Island between the
years 1623 and 1664.

Indeed, the Dutch episode in our history is in all respects refreshing
and agreeable; the burghers set us an example of thrift and steadiness too
good for us to follow it; and they deeded to us some of our best citizens,
and most engaging architectural traditions. But it is not after all for
these and other material benefits that we are indebted to them; we thank
them still more for being what they were (and could not help being): for
their character, their temperament, their costume, their habits, their
breadth of beam, their length of pipes, the deliberation of their
courtships, the hardness of their bargains, the portentousness of their
tea-parties, the industrious decorum of their women, the dignity of their
patroons, the strictness of their social conduct, the soundness of their
education, the stoutness of their independence, the excellence of their
good sense, the simplicity of their prudence, and above all, for the
wooden leg of Peter Stuyvesant. In a word, the humorous perception of the
American people has made a pet of the Dutch tradition in New York and
Pennsylvania; as, likewise, of the childlike comicalities of the
plantation negro; the arch waggishness of the Irish emigrants, and the
cherubic shrewdness of the newly-acquired German. The Dutch gained much,
on the sentimental score, by transplantation; their old-world flavor and
rich coloring are admirably relieved against the background of unbaked
wilderness. We could not like them so much or laugh at them at all, did we
not so thoroughly respect them; the men of New Amsterdam were worthy of
their national history, which recounts as stirring a struggle as was ever
made by the love of liberty against the foul lust of oppression. The Dutch
are not funny anywhere but in Seventeenth Century Manhattan; nor can this
singularity be explained by saying that Washington Irving made them so. It
inheres in the situation; and the delightful chronicles of Diedrich
Knickerbocker owe half their enduring fascination to their sterling
veracity--the veracity which is faithful to the spirit and gambols only
with the letter. The humor of that work lies in its sympathetic and
creative insight quite as much as in the broad good-humor and imaginative
whimsicality with which the author handles his theme. The caricature of a
true artist gives a better likeness than any photograph.

The first ship containing families of colonists went out early in 1623,
under the command of Cornelis May; he broke ground on Manhattan, while
Joris built Fort Orange at Albany, and a little group of settlers squatted
round it. May acted as director for the first year or two; the trade in
furs was prosecuted, and the first Dutch-American baby was born at Fort
Orange.

Fortune was kind. King Charles, instead of discussing prior rights,
offered an alliance; at home, the bickerings of sects were healed. Peter
Minuit came out as director-general and paid his twenty-four dollars for
the Island--a little less than a thousand acres for a dollar. At all
events, the Indians seemed satisfied from Albany to the Narrows. The
Battery was designed, and there was quite a cluster of houses on the
clearing back of it. An atmosphere of Dutch homeliness began to temper the
thin American air. The honest citizens were pious, and had texts read to
them on Sundays; but they did not torture their consciences with spiritual
self-questionings like the English Puritans, nor dream of disciplining or
banishing any of their number for the better heavenly security of the
rest. The souls of these Netherlander fitted their bodies far better than
was the case with the colonists of Boston and Salem. Instead of starving
and rending them, their religion made them happy and comfortable. Instead
of settling the ultimate principles of theology and government, they
enjoyed the consciousness of mutual good-will, and took things as they
came. The new world needed men of both kinds. It must, however, be
admitted that the people of New Amsterdam were not wholly harmonious with
those of Plymouth. Minuit and Bradford had some correspondence, in which,
while professions of mutual esteem and love were exchanged, uneasy things
were let fall about clear titles and prior rights. Minuit was resolute for
his side, and the attitude of Bradford prompted him to send for a company
of soldiers from home. But there was probably no serious anticipation of
coming to blows on either part. There was space enough in the continent
for the two hundred and seventy inhabitants of New Amsterdam and for the
Pilgrim Fathers, for the present.

Spain was an unwilling contributor to the prosperity of the Dutch
colonists, by the large profits which the latter gained from the capture
of Spanish galleons; but in 1629 the charter creating the order of
Patroons laid the foundation for abuses and discontent which afflicted the
settlers for full thirty years. Upon the face of it, the charter was
liberal, and promised good results; but it made the mistake of not
securing popular liberties. The Netherlands were no doubt a free country,
as freedom was at that day understood in Europe; but this freedom did not
involve independence for the individual. The only recognized individuality
was that of the municipalities, the rulers of which were not chosen by
popular franchise. This system answered well enough in the old home, but
proved unsuited to the conditions of settlers in the wilderness. The
American spirit seemed to lurk like some subtle contagion in the remotest
recesses of the forest, and those who went to live there became affected
with it. It was longer in successfully vindicating itself than in New
England, because it was not stimulated on the banks of the Hudson by the
New England religious fervor; it was supported on grounds of practical
expediency merely. Men could not prosper unless they received the rewards
of industry, and were permitted to order their private affairs in a manner
to make their labor pay. They were not content to have the Patroon devour
their profits, leaving them enough only for a bare subsistence. The Dutch
families scattered throughout the domain could not get ahead, while yet
they could not help feeling that the bounty of nature ought to benefit
those whose toil made it available, at least as much as it did those who
toiled not, but simply owned the land in virtue of some documentary
transaction with the powers above, and therefore claimed ownership also
over the poor emigrant who settled on it--having nowhere else to go. The
emigrants were probably helped to comprehend and formulate their own
misfortunes by communications with stragglers from New England, who
regaled them with tales of such liberties as they had never before
imagined. But the seed thus sown by the Englishmen fell on fruitful soil,
and the crop was reaped in due season.

The charter intended, primarily, the encouragement of emigration, and did
not realize that it needed very little encouragement. The advantages
offered were more alluring than they need have been. Any person who,
within four years, could establish a colony of fifty persons, was given
privileges only comparable to those of independent princes. They were
allowed to take up tracts of land many square miles in area, to govern
them absolutely (according to the laws of the realm), to found and
administer cities, and in a word to drink from Baucis's pitcher to their
hearts' content. In return, the home administration expected the benefit
of their trade. Two stipulations only restrained them: they were to buy
titles to their land from the Indians, and they were to permit, on penalty
of removal, no cotton or woolen manufactures in the country. That was a
monopoly which was reserved to the weavers in the old country.

This was excellent for such as could afford to become patroons; but what
about the others? The charter provided that any emigrant who could pay for
his exportation might take up what land he required for his needs, and
cultivate it independently. Other emigrants, unable to pay their fare out,
might have it paid for them, but in that case, of course, incurred a
mortgage to their benefactors. In effect, they could not own the product
of the work of their hands, until it had paid their sponsors for their
outlay, together with such additions in the way of interest on capital as
might seem to the sponsors equitable.

The Company further undertook to supply slaves to the colony, should they
prove to be a paying investment; and it was chiefly because the climate of
New York was less favorable to the Guinea Coast negro than was that
further south, that African slavery did not take early and firm root in
the former region. Philosophers have long recognized the influence of
degrees of latitude upon human morality. The patroon planters could
dispense with black slaves, since they had white men enough who cost them
no more than their keep, and would, presumably, not involve the expense of
overseers. Everything, therefore, seemed harmonious and sunshiny, and the
Company congratulated itself.

But the patroons, through their agents, began buying up all the land that
was worth having, and found it easy to evade the stipulation restricting
them to sixteen miles apiece. One of them had an estate running
twenty-four miles on either bank of the Hudson, below Albany (or Fort
Orange as it was then), and forty-eight miles inland. It was superb; but
it was as far as possible from being democracy; and the portly Van
Rensselaer of Rennselaerwyck would have shuddered to his marrow, could he
have cast a prophetic eye into the Nineteenth Century.

The Company at home presently discovered that its incautious liberality
had injured its own interests, as well as those of poor settlers; for the
estates of the patroons covered the trading posts where the Indians came
to traffic, and all the profits from the latter swelled the pockets of the
patroons. But the charter could not be withdrawn; the directors must be
content with whatever sympathetic benefits might be conferred by the
increasing wealth of the colony. The patroons were becoming more powerful
than their creators, and took things more and more into their own lordly
hands. Neither patroons nor Company concerned themselves about the people.
The charter had, indeed, mentioned the subjects of schools and religious
instructors for the emigrants, but had made no provision for the
maintenance of such; and the patroons conceived that such luxuries were
deserving of but the slightest encouragement. The more a poor man knows,
the less contented is he. Such was the argument then, and it is
occasionally heard to-day, when our trusts and corporations are annoyed by
the complaints and disaffections of their only half ignorant employés.

Governor Minuit was not held to be the best man in the world for his
position, and he was recalled in 1632, and Wouter Van Twiller, who
possessed all of his predecessor's faults and none of his virtues, took
his place. A governor with the American idea in him would have saved
Manhattan a great deal of trouble, and perhaps have enabled the Dutch to
keep their hold upon it; but no such governor was available, and worse
than Van Twiller was yet to come. A colony had already been planted in
Delaware, but unjust dealings with the Indians led to a massacre which
left nothing of the Cape Henlopen settlement but bones and charred
timbers. The English to the south were led to renew the assertion of their
never-abandoned claim to the region; there were encroachments by the
English settlers on the Connecticut boundary, and the Dutch, deprived by
the wars in Europe of the support of their countrymen at home, were too
feeble to do more than protest. But protests from those unable to enforce
them have never been listened to with favor--not even by the English.
Besides, the Dutch, though amenable to religious observances, were far
from making them the soul and end of all thought and action; and this lack
of aggressive religious fiber put them at a decided political disadvantage
with their rivals. Man for man, they were the equals of the English, or of
any other people; as they magnificently demonstrated, forty years
afterward, by defeating allied and evil-minded Europe in its attempt to
expunge them as a nation. But the indomitable spirit of Van Tromp and De
Ruyter was never awakened in the New Netherlands; commercial
considerations were paramount; and though the Dutch settlers remained, and
were always welcome, the colony finally passed from the jurisdiction of
their own government, with their own expressed consent.

Van Twiller vanished after eight years' mismanagement, and the sanguinary
Kieft took the reins. But before his incumbency, Sweden, at the instance
of Gustavus Adolphus, and by the agency of his chancellor Oxenstiern, both
men of the first class, lodged a colony on Delaware Bay, which subsisted
for seventeen years, and was absorbed, at last, without one stain upon its
fair record. Minuit, being out of a job, offered his experienced services
in bringing the emigrating Swedes and Finns to their new abode, and they
began their sojourn in 1638. They were industrious, peaceable, religious
and moral, and they declared against any form of slavery. They threw out a
branch toward Philadelphia. But Gustavus Adolphus had died at Luetzen
before the Swedes came over, and Queen Christina had not the ability to
carry out his ideas, even had she possessed the power. The Dutch began to
dispute the rights of the Scandinavians; Rysingh took their fort Casimir
in 1654, and Peter Stuyvesant with six hundred men received their
submission in the same year. But this success was of no benefit to the
Dutch; the tyrannous monopolies which the Company tried to establish in
Delaware, instead of creating revenues, caused the country to be deserted
by the settlers, who betook themselves to the less oppressive English
administrations to the southward; and it was not until the English took
possession of both Delaware and the rest of the New Netherlands that it
began to yield a fair return on the investment.

But we must return to the ill-omened Kieft. It was upon the Indian
question that he made shipwreck, not only incurring their deadly enmity,
but alienating from himself the sympathies and support of his own
countrymen. The Algonquin tribe, which inhabited the surrounding country,
had been constantly overreached in their trade with the Dutchmen; the
principle upon which barter was carried on with the untutored savage
being, "I'll take the turkey, and you keep the buzzard: or you take the
buzzard, and I'll keep the turkey." This sounded fair; but when the Indian
came to examine his assets, it always appeared that a buzzard was all he
could make of it. Partly, perhaps, by way of softening the asperities of
such a discovery, the Dutch merchant had been wont to furnish his victim
with brandy (not eleemosynary, of course); but the results were
disastrous. The Indians, transported by the alcohol beyond the
anything-but-restricted bounds which nature had imposed upon them, felt
the insult of the buzzard more keenly than ever, and signified their
resentment in ways consistent with their instincts and traditions. In 1640
an army of them fell upon the colony in Staten Island, and slaughtered
them, man, woman and child, with the familiar Indian accessories of
tomahawk, scalping-knife and torch. The Staten Islanders, it should be
stated, had done nothing to merit this treatment; but Indian logic
interprets the legal maxim "Qui facit per alium, facit per se," as meaning
that if one white man cheats him, he can get his satisfaction out of the
next one who happens in sight. Staten Island was a definite and convenient
area, and when its population had been exterminated, the Indians could
feel relieved from their obligation. Not long afterward an incident such
as romancers love to feign actually took place; an Indian brave who, as a
child years before, had seen his uncle robbed and slain, and had vowed
revenge, now having become of age, or otherwise qualified himself for the
enterprise, went upon the warpath, and returned with the long-coveted
scalp at his girdle. Evidently the time had come for Governor Kieft to
assert himself.

It was of small avail to invade the wilds of New Jersey, or to offer
rewards for Raritans, dead or alive. The sachems were willing to express
their regret, but they would not surrender the culprits, and declared that
the Dutchmen's own brandy was the really guilty party. Kieft would not
concede the point, and the situation was strained. At this juncture, the
unexpected happened. The Mohawks, a kingly tribe of red men, who claimed
all Northeast America from the St. Lawrence to the Delaware, and who had
already driven the Algonquins before them like chaff, sent down a war
party from northern New York, and demanded tribute from them. There were
more Algonquins than there were Mohawks; but one eagle counts for more
than many kites. The kites came fluttering to Fort Orange for protection:
not so much that they feared death or torture, but they were overawed by
the spirit of the Mohawk, and could not endure to face him. Kieft fancied
that he saw his opportunity. He would teach the red scoundrels a lesson
they would remember. There was a company of soldiers in the Fort, and in
the river were moored some vessels with crews of Dutch privateers on
board. Kieft made up his party, and when night had fallen he sent them on
their bloody errand, guided by one who knew all the camps and
hiding-places of the doomed tribe. It was a revolting episode; a hundred
Indians were unresistingly murdered. They would have made a stronger
defense had they not been under the impression that it was the Mohawks who
were upon them; and to be killed by a Mohawk was no more than an Algonquin
should expect. But when it transpired that the Dutch were the
perpetrators, the whole nation gave way to a double exasperation: first,
that their friends had been killed, and secondly that they had suffered
under a misapprehension. The settlers, in disregard of advice, were living
in scattered situations over a large territory, and they were all in
danger, and defenseless, even if New Amsterdam itself could escape. Kieft
was heartily cursed by all impartially; he was compelled to make overtures
for peace, and a pow-wow was held in Rockaway woods, in the spring of
1643. Terms were agreed upon, and, according to Indian usage, gifts were
exchanged. But those of the chiefs so far exceeded in value the offerings
of Kieft that these were regarded as a fresh insult; war was declared,
and dragged along for two years more. It was not until 1645 that the
grand meeting of the settlers and the Five Nations took place at Fort
Amsterdam, and the treaty of lasting peace was ratified. Kieft sailed from
New Amsterdam with the consciousness of having injured his countrymen more
than had any enemy; but he was drowned off the Welsh coast, without having
brought forth fruits meet for repentance.

Peter Stuyvesant is a favorite character in our history because he was a
manly and straightforward man, faithful to his employers, fearless in
doing and saying what he thought was right, and endowed with a full share
of obstinate, homely, kindly human nature. He was not in advance of his
age, or superior to his training; he was the plain product of both, but
free from selfishness, malice, and unworthy ambitions. He was born in
1602, and came to America a warrior from honorable wars, seamed and
knotty, with a famous wooden leg which all New Yorkers, at any rate love
to hear stumping down the corridors of time. His administration, the last
of the Dutch regime, wiped out the stains inflicted by his predecessors,
and resisted with equal energy encroachments from abroad and innovations
at home. He was a true Dutchman, with most of the limitations and all the
virtues of his race; fond of peace and of dwelling in his own "Bowery,"
yet not afraid to fight when he deemed that his duty. His tenure of office
lasted from 1647 till 1664, a period of seventeen active years; after the
English took possession of the town and called it New York, Peter went
back to Holland, unwilling to live in the presence of new things; but he
found that, at the age of sixty-three, he could not be happy away from the
home that he had made for himself in the new world; so he returned to
Manhattan Island, and completed the tale of his eighty years on the farm
which is now the most populous and democratic of New York's thoroughfares.
There he smoked his long-stemmed pipe and drank his schnapps, and thought
over old times, and criticised the new. After two and a half centuries,
the memory of him is undimmed; and it is to be wished that some fitting
memorial of him may be erected in the city which his presence honored.

The very next year after his arrival, free trade was established in New
Amsterdam. There had been a strict monopoly till then; but in one way or
another it was continually evaded, and the New Amsterdam merchants found
themselves so much handicapped by the restrictions, that their inability
reacted upon the managers at home. There were not at that time any infant
industries in need of protection, and the colony was large and capacious
enough to take what the mother country sent it, and more also. But in
order to prevent loss, an export duty was enforced, which pressed lightly
on those who paid it, and comforted those to whom it was paid. Commerce
was greatly stimulated, and the merchants of old Amsterdam sent
compliments and prophesies of future greatness to their brethren across
the sea. Every new-hatched settlement that springs up on the borders of
the wilderness is liable to be "hailed" by its promoters as destined to
become the Queen City of its region; the wish fathers the word, and the
word is an advertisement. But the merchant princes of Amsterdam spoke by
the card; they perceived the almost unique advantages of geographical
position and local facilities of their American namesake; with such a bay
and water front, with such a river, with such a soil and such openings for
trade, what might it not become! Yes: but--"Sic vos noa vobis
aedificatis!" The English reaped what the Dutch had sown, and New York
inherits the glory and power predicted for New Amsterdam.

The soil of Manhattan Island being comparatively poor, the place was
destined to be used as a residence merely, and the houses of prosperous
traders and burghers began to assemble and bear likeness to a town. The
primeval forest still clothed the upper part of the island; but the
visible presence of a municipality in the southern extremity prompted the
inhabitants to suggest a remodeling of the government somewhat after the
New England pattern, where patroons were unknown and impossible. It is not
surprising that suggestions to this effect from the humbler members of the
community were not cordially embraced by either the patroons or their
creators at home; in fact, it was still-born. That the people should rule
themselves was as good as to say that the horse should loll in the
carriage while his master toiled between the shafts. The thing was
impossible, and should be unmentionable. The people, however, continued to
mention it, and even to neglect paying the taxes which had been imposed
with no regard to their reasonable welfare. A deputation went to Holland
to tell the directors that they could neither farm nor trade with profit
unless the burdens were lightened; the directors thought otherwise, and
the consequence was that devices were practiced to lighten them illicitly.
This added to the interest of life, but subverted the welfare of the
state. Where political rights are not secured to all men by constitutional
right, those who are unable to get them by privilege, intrigue to steal
what such rights would guarantee. At this rate, there would presently be a
Council of Ten and an Inquisition in New Amsterdam. In 1653, the Governor
was constrained to admit the deputies from the various settlements to an
interview, in which they said their say, and he his. "We have come here at
our own expense," they observed, "from various countries of Europe,
expecting to be given protection while earning our living; we have turned
your wilderness into a fruitful garden for you, and you, in return, impose
on us laws which disable us from profiting by our labor. We ask you to
repeal these laws, allow us to make laws to meet our needs, and appoint
none to office who has not our approbation." Thus, in substance, spoke the
people; and we, at the end of the Nineteenth Century, may think they were
uttering the veriest axioms of political common sense. What sturdy Peter
Stuyvesant thought is perfectly expressed in what he replied.

"The old laws will stand. Directors and council only shall be law-makers:
never will they make themselves responsible to the people. As to officers
of government, were their election left to the rabble, we should have
thieves on horseback and honest men on foot." And with that, we may
imagine, the Governor stamped his wooden toe.

The people shrugged their shoulders. "We aim but at the general good,"
said they. "All men have a natural right to constitute society, and to
assemble to protect their liberties and property."

"I declare this assembly dissolved," Peter retorted. "Assemble again at
your peril! The authority which rules you is derived not from the whim of
a few ignorant malcontents." Alas! the seed of the American Idea had
never germinated in Peter's soldierly bosom; and when the West India
Company learned of the dialogue, they spluttered with indignation. "The
people be d----d." was the sense of their message. "Let them no longer
delude themselves with the fantasy that taxes require their assent." With
that, they dismissed the matter from their minds. Yet even then, the
Writing was on the wall. The flouted people were ripe to welcome England;
and England, in the shape of Charles II., who had come at last to his own,
meditated wiping the Dutch off the Atlantic seaboard. It availed not to
plead rights: Lord Baltimore snapped his fingers. Lieutenant-governor
Beekman, indeed, delayed the appropriation of Delaware; but Long Island
was being swallowed up, and nobody except the government cared. The people
may be incompetent to frame laws: but what if they decline to fight for
you when called upon? If they cannot make taxes to please themselves, at
all events they will not make war to please anybody else. If they are poor
and ignorant, that is not their fault. The English fleet was impending;
what was to be done? Could Stuyvesant but have multiplied himself into a
thousand Stuyvesants, he knew what he would do; but he was impotent. In
August, 1664, here was the fleet actually anchored in Gravesend Bay, with
Nicolls in command. "What did they want?" the Governor inquired.
"Immediate recognition of English sovereignty," replied Nicolls curtly;
and the gentler voice of Winthrop of Boston was heard, advising surrender.
"Surrender would be reproved at home," said poor Stuyvesant, refusing to
know when he was beaten. He was doing his best to defeat the army and navy
of England single-handed. But the burgomasters went behind him, and
capitulated, and--Peter to the contrary for four days more notwithstanding
--New Amsterdam became New York.

The English courted favor by liberal treatment of their new dependants on
the western shore of the Hudson; whatever the Dutch had refused to do,
they did. The Governor and Council were to be balanced by the people's
representatives; no more arbitrary taxation; citizens might think and pray
as best pleased them; land tenure was made easy, and seventy-five acres
was the bounty for each emigrant imported, negroes included. By such
inducements the wilderness of New Jersey, assigned to Berkeley and
Carteret, was peopled by Scots, New Englanders and Quakers. Settlement
proceeded rapidly, and in 1668 a colonial legislature met in the town
named after Elizabeth Carteret. There were so many Puritans in the
assembly, and their arguments were so convincing, that New Jersey law bore
a strong family resemblance to that of New England. This had its effect,
when, in 1670, the rent question came up for settlement. The Puritans
contended that the Indians held from Noah, and as they were lawful heirs
of the Indians, they declined to pay rents to the English proprietors.
There was no means of compelling them to do so, and they had their way.
The Yankees were already going ahead.

Manhattan did not get treated quite so well. The Governor had everything
his own way, the council being his creatures, and the justices his
appointees. The people were permitted no voice in affairs, and might as
well have had Stuyvesant back again. After Nicolls had strutted his term,
Lord Lovelace came, and outdid him. His idea of how to govern was
formulated in his instructions to an agent: "Lay such taxes," said he, "as
may give them liberty for no thought but how to discharge them." Lord
Lovelace was an epigrammatist; but in the end he had to pay for his wit.
He attempted to levy a tax for defense, and was met with refusal; the
towns of Long Island had not one cent either for tribute or defense; his
lordship swore at them heartily, but they heeded him not; and he found
himself in the shoes of the ousted Dutch Governor in an another sense than
he desired. And then was poetical justice made complete; for who should
appear before the helpless forts but Evertsen with a Dutch fleet! New
York, New Jersey and Delaware surrendered to him almost with enthusiasm,
and the work of England seemed to be all undone.

But larger events were to control the lesser. France and England combined
in an iniquitous conspiracy to destroy the Dutch Republic, and swooped
down upon the coast with two hundred thousand men. The story has often
been told how the Dutch, tenfold outnumbered, desperately and gloriously
defended themselves. They finally swept the English from the seas, and
patroled the Channel with a broom at the masthead. By the terms of the
treaty of peace which Charles was obliged by his own parliament to make,
all conquests were mutually restored, and New York consequently reverted
to England. West Jersey was bought by the Quakers; the eastern half of the
province was restored to the rule of Carteret. The Atlantic coast, from
Canada down to Florida, continuously, was English ground, and so remained
until, a century later, the transplanted spirit of liberty, born in
England, threw down the gauntlet to the spirit of English tyranny, and
won independence for the United States.

When we remember that the Dutch maintained their government in the new
world for little more than fifty years, it is surprising how deep a mark
they made there. It is partly because their story lends itself to
picturesque and graphic treatment; it is so rich in character and color,
and telling in incident. Then, too, it has a beginning, middle and end,
which is what historians as well as romancers love. But most of all,
perhaps, their brief chronicles as a distinct political phenomenon
illustrate the profound problem of self-government in mankind. The
Netherlander had proved, before any of them came hither, with what
inflexible courage they could resent foreign tyranny; and the
municipalities, as well as the nation, had grasped the principles of
independence. But it was not until they erected their little commonwealth
amid the forests of the Hudson that they awakened to the conception that
every man should bear his part in the government of all. To attain this,
it was necessary to break through a crust of conservatism almost as
stubborn as that of Spain. The authority of their upper classes had never
been questioned; the idea had never been entertained that a citizen in
humble life could claim any right to influence the conditions under which
his life should be carried on. That innate and inalienable right of the
individual to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, which Jefferson
asserted, and which has become an axiom to every American school-boy, does
not appear, upon investigation, to be either inalienable or innate. The
history of mankind shows that it has been constantly alienated from them;
and if we pass in review the population of the world, from the oldest to
contemporary times, and from savages tribes to the most highly civilized
nations, we find the plebeian bowing before the patrician, the poor man
serving the wealthy. The conception of human equality before the law is
not a congenital endowment, but an accomplishment, arduously acquired and
easily forfeited. The first impulse of weakness in the presence of
strength is to bow down before it; it is the impulse of the animal, and of
the unspiritual, the unregenerate nature in man. The ability to recognize
the solidarity of man, and therefore the equality of spiritual manhood,
involves an uplifting of the mind, an illumination of the soul, which can
be regarded as the result of nothing less than a revelation. It is not
developed from below--it is received from above; it is a divine whisper in
the ear of fallen man, transfiguring him, and opening before him the way
of life. It postulates no loss of humility; it does not disturb the truth
that some must serve and some must direct; that some shall have charge
over many things, and some over but few. It does not supersede the outward
order of society. But it affirms that to no man or body of men, no matter
how highly endowed by nature or circumstance with intellect, position or
riches, shall be accorded the right to dispose arbitrarily of the lives
and welfare of the masses. Not elsewhere than in the hands of the entire
community shall be lodged the reins of government. The administration
shall be with the chosen ones whose training and qualifications fit them
for that function; but the principles on which their administration is
conducted shall be determined by the will and vote of all.

This is not lightly to be believed or understood; Peter Stuyvesant voiced
the unenlightened thought when he said that, should the rabble rule, order
and honesty must be overthrown. This is the inevitable conclusion of
materialistic logic. Like produces like; evil, evil; ignorance, ignorance.
Only by inspired faith will the experiment be tried of trusting the
Creator to manifest His purposes, not by the conscious wisdom of any man
or men, but through the unconscious, organic tendency, mental and moral,
of universal man. We may call it "the tendency, not ourselves, which makes
for righteousness"; or we may analyze it into the resultant of innumerable
forces, taking a direction independent of them all; or we may say simply
that it is the Divine method of leading us upward; it is all one.
Universal suffrage is an act of faith; and, faithfully carried out, it
brings political and religious emancipation to the people. How far it has
been carried out in this country is a question we shall have to answer
hereafter; we may say here that our forefathers realized its value, and
gave to us in our Constitution the mechanism whereby to practice it. To it
they added the memory of their courage and their sacrifices in its behalf;
and more than this was not theirs to give.

The English Puritans received their revelation in one way; the Dutch
traders and farmers in another; but it was the same revelation. To neither
could it be imparted in Europe, but only in the virgin solitudes of an
untrodden continent. There man, already civilized, was enabled to perceive
the inefficiency and distortion of his civilization, and to grasp the
cure. Hudson, an Englishman, but at the moment in Dutch service, opened
the gates to the Netherlanders, and thus enabled their emigrants to
perfect the work of emancipation which had been brought to the highest
stage it could reach at home. They were opposed by the directors in
Amsterdam, by their own governors and patroons, and by the errors which
immemorial usage had ingrained in them as individuals. They overcame these
forces, not by their own strength, nor by any violent act of revolution,
but by the slow, irresistible energy of natural law, with which, as with a
gravitative force, they had placed themselves in harmony. Thus they
exemplified one of the several ways in which freedom comes to man, and
took their place as a component element in the limitless cosmopolitanism
of our population.

Their subsequent history shows that nothing truly valuable is lost in
democracy. The high behavior and dignified manners which belonged to their
patroons may be observed among their descendants in contemporary New York;
the men whose ancestors controlled a thousand tenants have not lost the
powers of handling large matters in a large spirit; but they exercise it
now for worthier ends than of old. Similarly, the Dutch stolidity which
amuses us in the chronicles, reappears to-day in the form of steadiness
and judgment; the obstinacy of headstrong Peter, as self-confidence and
perseverance; the physical grossness of the old burghers, as
constitutional vigor. Many of their customs too have come down to us;
their heavy afternoon teas are recalled in our informal receptions; their
New Year's Day sociability in our calls, their Christmas celebrations in
our festival of Santa Claus. Much of our domestic architecture reflects
their influence: the gabled fronts, the tiled fireplaces, the high
"stoops," and the custom of sitting on them in summer evenings. In general
it is seen that the effect of democratic institutions is to save the grain
and reject the chaff, because criticism becomes more close and punctual,
abuses and license are not chartered, and the individual is bereft of
artificial supports and disguises, and must appear more nearly as God made
him.

[Illustration: Trepanning Men to be Sent to the Colonies]



CHAPTER FIFTH

LIBERTY, SLAVERY, AND TYRANNY


We left the colony at Jamestown emerging from thick darkness and much
tribulation toward the light. Some distance was still to be traversed
before full light and easement were attained; but fortune, upon the whole,
was kinder to Virginia than to most of the other settlements; and though
clouds gathered darkly now and then, and storms threatened, and here and
there a bolt fell, yet deliverance came beyond expectation. Something
Virginia suffered from Royal governors, something from the Indians,
something too from the imprudence and wrong-headedness of her own people.
But her story is full of stirring and instructive passages. It tells how a
community chiefly of aristocratic constitution and sympathies, whose
loyalty to the English throne was deep and ardent, and whose type of life
was patrician, nevertheless were won insensibly and inevitably to espouse
the principles of democracy. It shows how, with honest men, a king may be
loved, and the system which he stands for reverenced and defended, while
yet the lovers and apologists choose and maintain a wholly different
system for themselves. The House of Stuart had none but friends in
Virginia; when the son of Charles the First was a fugitive, Virginia
offered him a home; and the follies and frailties of his father, and the
grotesque chicaneries of his grandfather, could not alienate the
colonists' affection. Yet, from the moment their Great Charter was given
them, they never ceased to defend the liberties which it bestowed against
every kingly effort to curtail or destroy them; and on at least one
occasion they fairly usurped the royal prerogative. They presented, in
short, the striking anomaly of a people acknowledging a monarch and at the
same time claiming the fullest measure of political liberty till then
enjoyed by any community in modern history. They themselves perceived no
inconsistency in their attitude; but to us it is patent, and its meaning
is that the sentiment of a tradition may be cherished and survive long
after intelligence and experience have caused the thing itself to be
consigned to the rubbish-heap of the past.

So long as Sir Thomas Smythe occupied the president's chair of the London
Company, there could be no hope of substantial prosperity for the
Jamestown emigrants. He was a selfish and conceited satrap, incapable of
enlightened thought or beneficent action, who knew no other way to magnify
his own importance than by suffocating the rights and insulting the
self-respect of others. He had a protégé in Argall, a disorderly ruffian
who was made deputy-governor of the colony in 1617. His administration
was that of a freebooter; but the feeble and dwindling colony had neither
power nor spirit to do more than send a complaint to London. Lord Delaware
had in the meantime sailed for Virginia, but died on the trip; Argall was,
however, dismissed, and Sir George Yeardley substituted for him--a man of
gracious manners and generous nature, but somewhat lacking in the force
and firmness that should build up a state. He had behind him the best men
in the company if not in all England: Sir Edward Sandys, the Earl of
Southampton, and Nicolas Ferrar. Smythe had had resignation forced upon
him, and with him the evil influences in the management retired to the
background. Sandys was triumphantly elected governor and treasurer, with
Ferrar as corporation counsel; Southampton was a powerful supporter. They
were all young men, all royalists, and all unselfishly devoted to the
cause of human liberty and welfare. Virginia never had better or more
urgent friends.

Yeardley, on his arrival, found distress and discouragement, and hardly
one man remaining in the place of twenty. The colonists had been robbed
both by process of law and without; they had been killed and had died of
disease; they had deserted and been deported; they had been denied lands
of their own, or the benefit of their own labor; and they had been
permitted no part in the management of their own affairs. The rumor of
these injuries and disabilities had got abroad, and no recruits for the
colony had been obtainable; the Indians were ill-disposed, and the houses
poor and few. Women too were lamentably scanty, and the people had no root
in the country, and no thought but to leave it. Like the emigrants to the
Klondike gold-fields in our own day, they had designed only to better
their fortunes and then depart. The former hope was gone; the latter was
all that was left.

Yeardley's business, in the premises, was agreeable and congenial; he had
a letter from the company providing for the abatement of past evils and
abuses, and the establishment of justice, security and happiness. He sent
messengers far and wide, summoning a general meeting to hear his news and
confer together for the common weal.

Hardly venturing to believe that any good thing could be in store for
them, the burgesses and others assembled, and crowded into the place of
meeting. Twenty-two delegates from the eleven plantations were there, clad
in their dingy and dilapidated raiment, and wide-brimmed hats; most of
them with swords at their sides, and some with rusty muskets in their
hands. Their cheeks were lank and their faces sunburned; their bearing was
listless, yet marked with some touch of curiosity and expectation. There
were among them some well-filled brows and strong features, announcing men
of ability and thoughtfulness, though they had lacked the opportunity and
the cue for action. Their long days on the plantations, and their uneasy
nights in the summer heats, had given them abundant leisure to think over
their grievances and misfortunes, and to dream of possible reforms and
innovations. But of what profit was it? Their governors had no thought but
to fill their own pockets, the council was powerless or treacherous, and
everything was slipping away.

It was in the depths of summer--the 30th of July, 1619. More than a year
was yet to pass before the "Mayflower" would enter the wintry shelter of
Plymouth harbor. In the latitude of Jamestown the temperature was almost
tropical at this season, and exhausting to body and spirit. The room in
which they met, in the governor's house in Jamestown, was hardly spacious
enough for their accommodation: four unadorned walls, with a ceiling that
could be touched by an upraised hand. It had none of the aspect of a hall
of legislature, much less of one in which was to take place an event so
large and memorable as the birth of liberty in a new world. But the
delegates thronged in, and were greeted at their entrance by Yeardley, who
stood at a table near the upper end of the room, with a secretary beside
him and a clergyman of the Church of England on his other hand. The
colonists looked at his urbane and conciliating countenance, and glanced
at the document he held in his hand, and wondered what would be the issue.
Nothing of moment, doubtless; still, they could scarcely be much worse off
than they were; and the new governor certainly had the air of having
something important to communicate. They took their places, leaning
against the walls, or standing with their hands clasped over the muzzles
of their muskets, or supporting one foot upon a bench; and the gaze of all
was concentrated on the governor. As he opened the paper, a silence fell
upon the assembly.

Such, we may imagine, were the surroundings and circumstances of this
famous gathering, the transactions of which fill so bright a page in the
annals of the early colonies. The governor asked the clergyman for a
blessing, and when the prayer was done suggested the choosing of a
chairman, or speaker. The choice fell upon John Pory, a member of the
former council. Then the governor read his letter from the company in
London.

The letter, in few words, opened the door to every reform which could
make the colony free, prosperous and happy, and declared all past wrongs
at an end. It merely outlined the scope of the improvements, leaving it to
the colonists themselves to fill in the details. "Those cruel laws were
abrogated, and they were to be governed by those free laws under which his
majesty's subjects in England lived." An annual grand assembly, consisting
of the governor and council and two burgesses from each plantation, chosen
by the people, was to be held; and at these assemblies they were to frame
whatever laws they deemed proper for their welfare. These concessions were
of the more value and effect, because they were advocated in England by
men who had only the good of the colony at heart, and possessed power to
enforce their will.

It seemed almost too good to be true: it was like the sun rising after
the long arctic night. Those sad faces flushed, and the moody eyes
kindled. The burgesses straightened their backs and lifted their heads;
they looked at one another, and felt that they were once more men. There
was a murmur of joy and congratulation; and thanks were uttered to God,
and to the Company, for what had been done. And forthwith they set to work
with life and energy, and with a judgment and foresight which were hardly
to have been looked for in legislators so untried, to construct the
platform of enactments upon which the commonwealth of Virginia was
henceforth to stand.

From the body of the delegates, two committees were selected to devise
the new laws and provisions, while the governor and the rest reviewed the
laws already in existence, to determine what part of them, if any, was
suitable for continuance. Among the articles agreed upon were regulations
relating to distribution and tenure of land, which replaced all former
patents and privileges, and set all holders on an equal footing: the
recognition of the Church of England as governing the mode of worship in
Virginia, with a good salary for clergymen and an injunction that all and
sundry were to appear at church every Sunday, and bring their weapons with
them--thus insuring Heaven a fair hearing, while at the same time making
provision against the insecurity of carnal things. The wives of the
planters as well as their husbands were capacitated to own land, because,
in a new world, a woman might turn out to be as efficient as the man. This
sounds almost prophetic; but it was probably intended to operate on the
cultivation of the silkworm. Plantations of the mulberry had been ordered,
and culture of the cocoon was an industry fitting to the gentler sex, who
were the more likely to succeed in it on account of their known partiality
for the product. On the other hand, excess in apparel was kept within
bounds by a tax. The planting of vines was also ordered; but as a matter
of fact the manufacture of neither wine nor silk was destined to succeed
in the colony; tobacco and cotton were to be its staples, but the latter
had not at this epoch been attempted. Order and propriety among the
colonists were assured by penalties on gaming, drunkenness, and sloth; and
the better to guard against the proverbial wiles of Satan, a university
was sketched out, and direction was given that such children of the
heathen as showed indications of latent talent should be caught, tamed and
instructed, and employed as missionaries among their tribes. Finally, a
fixed price of three shillings for the best quality of tobacco, and
eighteen pence for inferior brands, was appointed; thus giving the colony
a currency which had the double merit of being a sound medium for traffic,
and an agreeable consolation and incense when the labors of the day were
past.

It was a good day's work; and the assembly dissolved with the conviction
that their time had never before been passed to such advantage. Yeardley,
knowing the disposition of the managers in London, opposed no objection to
the immediate practical enforcement of the new enactments; and indeed
Sandys, when he had an opportunity of examining the digest, expressed the
opinion that it had been "well and judiciously formed." The colonists, for
their part, dismissed all anxieties and shadows from their minds, and fell
to putting in crops and putting up dwellings as men will who have a stake
in their country, and feel that they can live in it. Their confidence was
not misplaced; within a year from this time the number of the colonists
had been more than doubled, and all troubles seemed at an end.

So long, however, as James I. disgraced the throne of England, popular
liberties could never be quite sure of immunity; and during the five or
six years that he still had to live, he did his best to disturb the
felicity of his Virginian subjects. He was unable to do anything very
serious, and what he did do, was in contravention of law. He got Sandys
out of the presidency; but Southampton was immediately put in his place;
he tried to get away the patent which he himself had issued, and finally
did so; but the colony kept its laws and its freedom, though the Throne
thenceforward appointed the governors. He put a heavy tax on tobacco,
which he professed to regard as an invention of the enemy; and he
countenanced an attempt by Lord Warwick, in behalf of Argall, to continue
martial law in the colony instead of allowing trial by Jury; but in this
he was defeated. He sent out two commissioners to Virginia to discover
pretexts for harassing it, and took the matter out of the hands of
Parliament; but the Virginians maintained themselves until death stepped
in and put a final stop to his majesty's industry, and Charles I. came to
the throne.

The climate of Virginia does not predispose to exertion; yet farming
involves hard physical work; and, beyond anything else, the wealth of
Virginia was derived from farming. Manufactures had not come in view, and
were discouraged or forbidden by English decree. But, as we saw in the
early days of Jamestown, the settlers there were unused to work, and
averse from it; although, under the stimulus of Captain John Smith, they
did learn how to chop down trees. After the colony became popular, and
populous, the emigrants continued to be in a large measure of a social
class to whom manual labor is unattractive. A country in which laborers
are indispensable, and which is inhabited by persons disinclined to labor,
would seem to stand no good chance of achieving prosperity. How, then, is
the early prosperity of Virginia to be explained? The charter did not make
men work.

It was due to the employment of slave labor. Slaves in the Seventeenth
Century were easily acquired, and were of several varieties. At one time,
there were more white slaves than black. White captives were often sold
into slavery; and there was also a regular trade in indentured slaves, or
servants, sent from England. These were to work out their freedom by a
certain number of years of labor for their purchaser. Convicts from the
prisons were also utilized as slaves. In the same year that the Virginia
charter bestowed political freedom upon the colonists, a Dutch ship landed
a batch of slaves from the Guinea coast, where the Dutch had a footing.
They were strong fellows, and the ardor of the climate suited them better
than that of the regions further north. Negroes soon came to be in demand
therefore; they did not die in captivity as the Indians were apt to do,
and a regular trade in them was presently established. A negro fetched in
the market more than twice as much as either a, red or a white man, and
repaid the investment. There was no general sentiment against traffic in
human beings, and it was not settled that negroes were human, exactly.
Slavery at all events had been the normal condition of Guinea negroes from
the earliest times, and they undoubtedly were worse treated by their
African than by their European and American owners. They were born slaves,
or at least in slavery. There had of course been enlightened humanitarians
as far back as the Greek and Roman eras, who had opined that the principle
of slavery was wrong; and such men were talking still; but ordinary people
regarded their deliverances as being in the nature of a counsel of
perfection, which was not intended to be observed in practice. There are
fashions in humanitarianism, as in other matters, and multitudes who
denounced slavery in the first half of this Nineteenth Century, were in no
respect better practical moralists than were the Virginians two hundred
years before. But the time had to come, in the course of human events,
when negro slavery was to cease in America; and those whose business
interests, or sentimental prejudices, were opposed to it, added the chorus
of their disapproval to the inscrutable movements of a Power above all
prejudices. Negro slavery, as an overt institution, is no more in these
States; but he would be a bold or a blind man who should maintain that
slavery, both black and white, has no existence among us to-day. Meanwhile
the Seventeenth Century planters of Virginia bought and sold their human
chattels with an untroubled conscience; and the latter, comprehending even
less of the ethics of the question than their masters did, were reasonably
happy. They were not aware that human nature was being insulted and
degraded in their persons: they were transported by no moral indignation.
When they were flogged, they suffered, but when their bodies stopped
smarting, no pain rankled in their minds. They were treated like animals,
and became like them. They had no anxieties; they looked neither forward
nor backward; their physical necessities were provided for. White slavery
gradually disappeared, but the feeling prevailed that slavery was what
negroes were intended for. The planters, after a few generations, came to
feel a sort of affection for their bondsmen who had been born on the
estates and handed down from father to son. Self-interest, as well as
natural kindliness, rendered deliberate cruelties rare. The negroes, on
the other hand, often loved their masters, and would grieve to leave them.
The evils of slavery were not on the surface, but were subtle, latent, and
far more malignant than was even recently realized. The Abolitionists
thought the trouble was over when the Proclamation of Emancipation was
signed. "We can put on our coats and go home, now," said Garrison; and
Wendell Phillips said, "I know of no man to-day who can fold his arms and
look forward to his future with more confidence than the negro." We shall
have occasion to investigate the intelligence of these forecasts
by-and-by. But there is something striking in the fact that that country
which claims to be the freest and most highly civilized in the world
should be the last to give up "the peculiar institution." How can devotion
to liberty co-exist in the mind with advocacy of servitude? This, too, is
a subject to which we must revert hereafter. At the period we are now
treating, there were more white than black slaves, and the princely
estates of later times had not been thought of. Indeed, in spite of
their marriage to liberty, the colonists did not yet feel truly at home.
Marriage of a more concrete kind was needed for that.

This defect was understood in England, and the Company took means to
remedy it. A number of desirable and blameless young women were enlisted
to go out to the colony and console the bachelors there. The plan was
discreetly carried out; the acquisition of the young ladies was not made
too easy, so that neither was their self-respect wounded, nor were the
bachelors allowed to feel that beauty and virtue in female form were
commonplace commodities. The romance and difficulty of the situation were
fairly well preserved. There stood the possible bride; but she was
available only with her own consent and approval; and before entering the
matrimonial estate, the bridegroom elect must pay all charges--so many
pounds of tobacco. And how many pounds of tobacco was a good wife worth?
From one point of view, more than was ever grown in Virginia; but the
sentimental aspect of the transaction had to be left out of consideration,
or the enterprise would have come to an untimely conclusion. From one
hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds of the weed was the average
commercial figure; it paid expenses and gave the agents a commission; for
the rest, the profit was all the colonist's. Many a happy home was founded
in this way, and, so far as we know, there were no divorces and no
scandals. But it must not be forgotten that, although tobacco was paid for
the wife, there was still enough left to fill a quiet pipe by the conjugal
fireside. They were the first Christian firesides where this soothing
goddess had presided: no wonder they were peaceful!

Charles I. was a young man, with a large responsibility on his shoulders;
and two leading convictions in his mind. The first was that he ought to be
the absolute head of the nation; Parliament might take counsel with him,
but should not control him when it came to action. The same notion had
prevailed with James I., and was to be the immediate occasion of the
downfall of James II.; as for Charles II., his long experience of hollow
oak trees, and secret chambers in the houses of loyalists, had taught him
the limitations of the kingly prerogative before he began his reign; and
the severed head of his father clinched the lesson. But the Stuarts, as a
family, were disinclined to believe that the way to inherit the earth was
by meekness, and none of them believed it so little as the first Charles.

The second conviction he entertained was that he must have revenues, and
that they should be large and promptly paid. His whole pathetic career
--tragic seems too strong a word for it, though it ended in death--was a
mingled story of nobility, falsehood, gallantry and treachery, conditioned
by his blind pursuit of these two objects, money and power.

Upon general principles, then, it was to be expected that Charles would
be the enemy of Virginian liberties. But it happened that money was his
more pressing need at the time his attention first was turned on the
colony; he saw that revenues were to be gained from them; he knew that the
charter recently given to them had immensely increased their
productiveness; and as to his prerogative, he had not as yet felt the
resistance which his parliament had in store for him, and was therefore
not jealous of the political privileges of a remote settlement--one, too,
which seemed to be in the hands of loyal gentlemen. "Their liberties harm
me not," was his thought, "and they appear to be favorable to the success
of the tobacco crop; the tobacco monopoly can put money in my purse;
therefore let the liberties remain. Should these planters ever presume to
go too far, it will always be in my power to stop them." Thus it came
about that tobacco, after procuring the Virginians loving wives, was also
the means of securing the favor of their king. But they, naturally,
ascribed the sunshine of his smile to some innate merit in themselves, and
their gratitude made them his enthusiastic supporters as long as he lived.
They mourned his death, and opened their arms to all royalist refugees
from the power of Cromwell. When Cromwell sent over a man-of-war, however,
they accepted the situation. Virginia had by that time grown to so
considerable an importance that they could adopt a somewhat conservative
attitude toward the affairs even of the mother country.

The ten years following Charles's accession were a period of peace and
growth in the colony; of great increase in population and in production,
and of a steady ripening of political liberties. But the conditions under
which this development went on were different from those which existed in
New England and in New York. The Puritans were actuated by religious
ideals, the Dutch by commercial projects chiefly; but the Virginia
planters were neither religious enthusiasts nor tradesmen. Their tendency
was not to huddle together in towns and close communities, but to spread
out over the broad and fertile miles of their new country, and live each
in a little principality of his own, with his slaves and dependants around
him. They modeled their lives upon those of the landed gentry in England;
and when their crops were gathered, they did not go down to the wharfs and
haggle over their disposal, but handed them over to agents, who took all
trouble off their hands, and after deducting commissions and charges made
over to them the net profits. This left the planters leisure to apply
themselves to liberal pursuits; they maintained a dignified and generous
hospitality, and studied the art of government. A race of gallant
gentlemen grew up, well educated, and consciously superior to the rest of
the population, who had very limited educational facilities, and but
little of that spirit of equality and independence which characterized the
northern colonies. Towns and cities came slowly; the plantation system was
more natural and agreeable under the circumstances. Orthodoxy in religion
was the rule; and though at first there was a tendency to eschew
narrowness and bigotry, yet gradually the church became hostile to
dissenters, and Puritans and Quakers were as unwelcome in Virginia as were
the latter in Massachusetts, or Episcopalians anywhere in New England. All
this seems incompatible with democracy; and probably it might in time have
grown into a liberal monarchical system. The slaves were not regarded as
having any rights, political or personal; their masters exercised over
them the power of life and death, as well as all lesser powers. The bulk
of the white population was not oppressed, and was able to get a living,
for Virginia was "the best poor man's country in the world"; there was
little or none of the discontent that embarrassed the New Amsterdam
patroons; the charter gave them representation, and their manhood was not
undermined. Had Virginia been an island, or otherwise isolated, and free
from any external interference, we can imagine that the planters might at
last have found it expedient to choose a king from among their number, who
would have found a nobility and a proletariat ready made. But Virginia was
not isolated. She was loyal to the Stuarts, because they did not bring to
bear upon her the severities which they inflicted upon their English
subjects; but when she became a royal colony, and had to put up with
corrupt and despotic favorites of the monarch, who could do what they
pleased, and were responsible to nobody but the monarch who had made them
governor, loyalty began to cool. Moreover, men whose ability and advanced
opinions made them distasteful to the English kings, fled to the colonies,
and to Virginia among the rest, and sowed the seeds of revolt. Calamity
makes strange bedfellows: the planters liked outside oppression as little
as did the common people, and could not but make common cause with them.
The distance between the two was diminished. Social equality there could
hardly be; but political and theoretic equality could be acknowledged.
The English monarchy made the American republic; spurred its indolence,
and united its parts. Man left to himself is lax and indifferent; from
first to last it is the pressure of wrong that molds him into the form of
right. George I. gave the victory to the Americans in the Revolution as
much as Washington did. And before George's time, the colonies had been
keyed up to the struggle by years of injustice and outrage. And this
injustice and outrage seemed the more intolerable because they had been
preceded by a period of comparative liberality. It needs powerful pressure
to transform English gentlemen with loyalist traditions, and sympathies
into a democracy; but it can be done, and the English kings were the men
to do it.

Until the period of unequivocal tyranny arrived, the chief shadow upon
the colony was cast by its relations with the Indians. Powhatan, the
father of Pocahontas, and chief over tribes whose domains extended over
thousands of square miles, kept friendship with the whites till his death
in 1618. His brother, Opechankano, professed to inherit the friendship
along with the chieftainship; but the relations between the red men and
the colonists had never been too cordial, and the latter, measuring their
muskets and breastplates against the stone arrows and deerskin shirts of
the savages, fell into the error of despising them. The Indians, for their
part, stood in some awe of firearms, which they had never held in their
own hands, and the penalty for selling which to them had been made capital
years before. But they had their own methods of dealing with foes; and
since neither side had ever formally come to blows, they had received no
object lesson to warn them to keep hands off. Opechankano was intelligent
and far-seeing; he perceived that the whites were increasing in numbers,
and that if they were not checked betimes, they would finally overrun the
country. But he did not see so far as his brother, who had known that the
final domination of the English could not be prevented, and had therefore
adopted the policy of conciliating them as the best. Opechankano,
therefore, quietly planned the extermination of the settlers; the familiar
terms on which the white and red men stood played into his hands. Indians
were in the habit of visiting the white settlements, and mingling with the
people. Orders for concerted action were secretly circulated among the
savages, who were to hold themselves ready for the signal.

It might after all never have been given, but for an unlooked for
incident. A noisy and troublesome Indian, who imagined that bullets could
not kill him, fell into a quarrel with a settler, and slew him; and was
himself shot while attempting to escape from arrest. "Sooner shall the
heavens fall," devoutly exclaimed Opechankano, when informed of this
mishap, "than I will break the peace of Powhatan." But the waiting tribes
knew that the time had come.

On the morning of March 22, 1622, the settlers arose as usual to the
labors of the day; some of them took their hoes and spades and went out
into the fields; others busied themselves about their houses. Numbers of
Indians were about, but this excited no remark or suspicion; they were not
formidable; a dog could frighten them; a child could hold them in check.
Indians strolled into the cabins, and sat at the breakfast-tables. No one
gave them a second thought. No one looked over his shoulder when an Indian
passed behind him.

But, miles up the country from Jamestown lived a settler who kept an
Indian boy, whom he instructed, and who made himself useful about the
place; and of all the Indians in Virginia that day he was the only one
whose heart relented. His brother had lain with him the night before, and
had given him the word: he was to kill the settler and his family the next
morning. The boy seemed to assent, and the other went on his way. The boy
lay till dawn, his savage mind divided between fear of the great chief and
compassion for the white man who had been kind to him and taught him. In
the early morning he arose and stood beside his benefactor's bed. The man
slept: one blow, and he would be dead. But the boy did not strike; he
wakened him and told him of the horror that was about to befall.

Pace--such was the settler's name--did not wait for confirmation of the
tale; indeed, as he ran to the paddock to get his packhorse, he could see
the smoke of burning cabins rising in the still air, and could hear, far
off, the yells of the savages as they plied their work.

He sprang on the horse's back, with his musket across the withers, and
set off at a gallop toward Jamestown. Most of the colonists lived in that
neighborhood; if he could get there in time many lives might be saved. As
he rode, he directed his course to the cabins, on the right hand and on
the left, that lay in his way, and gave the alarm. Many of the savages,
who had not yet begun their work, at once took to flight; they would not
face white men when on their guard. In other places, the warning came too
late. The missionary, who had devoted his life to teaching the heathen
that men should love one another, was inhumanly butchered. Pace arrived in
season to avert the danger from the bulk of the little population; but, of
the four thousand scattered over the country-side, three hundred and
forty-seven died that morning, with the circumstances of hideous atrocity
which were the invariable accompaniments of Indian massacre. The colonists
were appalled; and for a time it seemed as if the purpose of Opechankano
would be realized. Two thousand settlers came in from the outlying
districts, panic-stricken, and after living for a while crowded together
in unwholesome quarters in the vicinity of Jamestown, took ship and
returned to England. Hardly one in ten of the plantations was not
deserted. The bolder spirits, who remained, organized a war of
extermination, in which they were supported and re-enforced by the
company, who sent over men and weapons as soon as the news was known in
England. But the campaign resolved itself into long and harassing attacks,
ambuscades and reprisals, extending over many years. There could be no
pitched battles with Indians; they gave way, but only to circumvent and
surprise. The whites were resolved to make no peace, and to give no
quarter to man, woman or child. The formerly peaceful settlement became
inured to blood and cruelty. But the red men could not be wholly driven
away. Just twenty years after the first massacre the same implacable
chief, now a decrepit old man, planned a second one; some hundreds were
murdered; but the colonists were readier and stronger now, and they
gathered themselves up at once, and inflicted a crushing vengeance. The
ancient chief was finally taken, and either died of wounds received in
fight, or was slain by a soldier after capture. After 1646, the borders
of Virginia were safe. There is no redeeming feature in this Indian
warfare, which fitfully survives, in remote parts of our country, even
now. It aided, perhaps, to train the race of pioneers and frontiersmen who
later became one of the most remarkable features of our early population.
Contact with the savage races inoculated us, perhaps, with a touch of
their stoicism and grimness. But in our conflicts with them there was
nothing noble or inspiring; and there could be no object in view on either
side but extermination. Our Indian fighters became as savage and merciless
as the creatures they pursued. The Indian must be fought by the same
tactics he adopts--cunning, stealth, surprise, and then unrelenting
slaughter, with the sequel of the scalping knife. They compel us to
descend to their level in war, and we have utterly failed to raise them to
our own in peace. Some of them have possessed certain harshly masculine
traits which we can admire; some of them have showed broad and virile
intelligence, the qualities of a general, a diplomatist, or even of a
statesman. There have been, and are, so-called tame Indians; but such were
not worth taming. As a whole, the red tribes have resisted all attempts to
lift them to the civilized level and keep them there. Roger Williams, and
the "apostle," John Eliot, were their friends, and won their regard; but
neither Williams' influence nor Eliot's Bible left any lasting trace upon
them. The Indian is irreclaimable; disappointment is the very mildest
result that awaits the effort to reclaim him. He is wild to the marrow; no
bird or beast is so wild as he. He is a human embodiment of the untrodden
woods, the undiscovered rivers, the austere mountains, the pathless
prairies--of all those parts and aspects of nature which are never brought
within the smooth sway of civilization, because, as soon as civilization
appears, they are, so far as their essential quality is concerned, gone.
To hear the yelp of the coyote, you must lie alone in the sage brush near
the pool in the hollow of the low hills by moonlight; it will never reach
your ears through the bars of the menagerie cage. To know the mountain,
you must confront the avalanche and the precipice uncompanioned, and stand
at last on the breathless and awful peak, which lifts itself and you into
a voiceless solitude remote from man and yet no nearer to God; but if you
journey with guides and jolly fellowship to some Mountain House, never so
airily perched, you would as well visit a panorama. To comprehend the
ocean, you must meet it in its own inviolable domain, where it tosses
heavenward its careless nakedness, and laughs with death; from the deck of
a steamboat you will never find it, though you sail as far as the Flying
Dutchman. But the solitude which nature reveals, and which alone reveals
her, does but prepare you for the inaproachableness that shines out at you
from the Indian's eyes. Seas are shallow and continents but a span
compared with the breadths and depths which separate him from you. The
sphinx will yield her mystery, but he will not unveil his; you may touch
the poles of the planet, but you can never lay your hand on him. The same
God that made you, made him also in His image; but if you try to bridge
the gulf between you, you will learn something of God's infinitude.

Sir George Yeardley and Sir Francis Wyatt both held the office of
governor twice, and with good repute; in 1630, Sir John Harvey succeeded
the former. He was the champion of monopolists; he would divide the land
among a few, and keep the rest in subjection. He fought with the
legislature from the first; he could not wring their rights from them, but
he distressed and irritated the colony, levying arbitrary fines, and
browbeating all and sundry with the brutality of an ungoverned temper. His
chief patron was Lord Baltimore, a Roman Catholic, and therefore
disfavored by the Protestant colony, who would not suffer him to plant in
their domain. He bought a patent authorizing him to establish a colony in
the northern part of Virginia, which was afterward called Maryland, being
cut off from the older colony; and this diminution of their territory much
displeased the Virginians. But Harvey supported him throughout; and
permitted mass to be said in Virginia. He likewise prevented the settlers
from carrying on the border warfare with the Indians, lest it should
disturb his perquisites from the fur trade. Violent scenes took place in
the hall of assembly, and hard words were given and exchanged; the
planters were men of hot passions, and the conduct of the governor became
intolerable to them. Matters came to a head during the last week in April
of 1635. An unauthorized gathering in York complained of an unjust tax and
of other malfeasances; whereupon Harvey cried mutiny, and had the leaders
arrested. But the boot was on the other leg. Several members of council,
with a company of musketeers at their back, came to his house; Matthews,
with whom the governor had lately had a fierce quarrel, and the other
planters, tramped into the broad hall of the dwelling, with swords in
their hands and threatening looks, and confronted him. John Utie brought
down his hand with staggering force on his shoulder, exclaiming, "I arrest
you for treason!" "How, for treason?" queried the frightened governor.
"You have betrayed our forts to our enemies of Maryland," replied several
stern voices. Harvey glanced from one to another; in the background were
the musketeers; plainly this was no time for trifling. He offered to do
whatever they demanded. They required the release of prisoners, which was
immediately done, and bade him prepare to answer before the assembly. They
would listen to no arguments and no excuses; he was told by Matthews, with
a menacing look, that the people would have none of him. "You intend no
less than the subversion of Maryland," protested Harvey; but he promised
to return to England, and John West, who had already acted as ad-interim
governor while Harvey was on his way to Virginia, was at once elected in
his place.

This incident showed of what stuff the Virginians were made. It was an
early breaking-out of the American spirit, which would never brook
tyranny. In offering violence to the king's governor they imperiled their
own lives; but their blood was up, and they heeded no danger. When Harvey
presented himself before Charles at the privy council, his majesty
remarked that he must be sent back at all hazards, because the sending him
to England had been an assumption on the colonists' part of regal power;
and, tobacco or no tobacco, the line must be drawn there. If the charges
against him were sustained, he might stay but a day; if not, his term
should be extended beyond the original commission. A new commission was
given him, and back he went; but this shuttlecock experience seems to have
quelled his spirit, and we hear no more of quarrels with the Virginia
council. Wyatt relieved him in 1639; and in 1642 came Sir William
Berkeley. This man, who was born about the beginning of the century, was
twice governor; his present term, lasting ten years, was followed by a
nine years' interval; reappointed again in 1660, he was in power when the
rebellion broke out which was led by Nathaniel Bacon. Little is known of
him outside of his American record; in his first term, under Charles I.,
he acted simply as the creature of that monarch, and aroused no special
animosities on his own account: during the reign of Cromwell, he
disappeared; but when Charles II. ascended the throne, Berkeley, though
then an old man, was thought to be fitted by his previous experience for
the Virginia post, and was returned thither. But years seemed to have
soured his disposition, and lessened his prudence, and, as we shall see,
his bloodthirsty conduct after Bacon's death was the occasion of his
recall in disgrace; and he died, like Andros more than half a century
later, with the curse of a people on his grave.

But his first appearance was auspicious; he brought instructions designed
to increase the reign of law and order in the colony, without infringing
upon its existing liberties. Allegiance to God and the king were enjoined,
additional courts were provided for, traffic with the Indians was
regulated, annual assemblies, with a negative voice upon their acts by the
governor, were commanded. The only discordant note in the instructions
referred to the conditions of maritime trade, afterward known in history
as the Navigation Acts. The colony desired free trade, which, as it had no
manufactures, was obviously to its benefit. But it was as obviously to the
interest of the king that he alone should enjoy the right of controlling
all imports into the colony, and absorbing all its exports; and his
rulings were framed to secure that end. But for the present the Acts were
not carried into effect; and, on the other hand, the prospect was held out
that there should be no taxation except what was voted by the people
themselves; and their contention that they, who knew the conditions and
needs of their colonial existence, were better able to regulate it than
those at home, was allowed. By way of evincing their recognition of this
courtesy, the assembly passed among other laws, one against toleration of
any other than the episcopalian form of worship; and when Charles was
beheaded, in 1649, it voted to retain Berkeley in office. But when in the
next year, the fugitive son of the dead king undertook to issue a
commission confirming him in his place, Parliament intervened. Virginia
was brought to her bearings; and the Navigation Acts were brought up
again. Cromwell, no less than Charles, appreciated the advantages of a
monopoly.

Restrictions on commerce, first imposed by Spain, were first resisted by
the Dutch, with the result of rendering them the leading maritime power.
Cromwell wished to appropriate or share this advantage; but instead of
adopting the means employed for that purpose by the Dutch, he decreed that
none but English ships should trade with the English colonies, and that
foreign ships should bring to England only the products of their own
countries. The restriction did little harm to Virginia, so long as England
was able to take all her products, and to supply all her needs; but it
brought on war with Holland, in which both the moral and the naval
advantage was on the side of the Dutch. But England acquired a foothold in
the West Indies, and her policy was maintained. Virginia asked that she
should have representatives to act for her in England, and when a body of
commissioners was appointed to examine colonial questions, among them were
Richard Bennett and William Clairborne, both of them colonists, and men of
force and ability. In the sequel, the liberties of the colony were
enlarged, and Bennett was made governor by vote of the assembly itself,
which continued to elect governors during the ascendency of Parliament in
England. When Richard Cromwell, who had succeeded the great Protector,
resigned his office, the Virginia burgesses chose Sir William Berkeley to
rule over them, and he acknowledged their authority. Meanwhile the
Navigation Acts were so little enforced that smuggling was hardly illegal;
and, in 1658, the colonists actually invited foreign nations to deal with
them. This was the period of Virginia's greatest freedom before the
Revolution. The suffrage was in the hands of all taxpayers; in religious
matters, all restrictions except those against the Quakers were removed;
loyalists and roundheads mingled amicably in planting and legislation, and
the differences which had arrayed them against one another in England were
forgotten. The population increased to thirty thousand, and the
inhabitants developed among themselves an ardent patriotism. It is not
surprising. Their country was one of the richest and loveliest in the
world; everything which impairs the enjoyment of life was eliminated or
minimized; hucksters, pettifoggers and bigots were scarce as June
snowflakes; indentured servants, on their emancipation, were speedily
given the suffrage; it might almost be said that a man might do whatever
he pleased, within the limits of criminal law. Assuredly, personal liberty
was far greater at this epoch, in Virginia, than it is today in New York
City or Chicago. The instinct of the Virginians, in matters of governing,
was so far as possible to let themselves alone; the planters, in the
seclusion of their estates, were practically subject to no law but their
own pleasure. There was probably no place in the civilized world where so
much intelligent happiness was to be had as in Virginia during the years
immediately preceding the Restoration.

What would have been the political result had the absence of all
artificial pressure indefinitely continued? Two tendencies were
observable, working, apparently, in opposite directions. On one side were
the planters, many of them aristocratic by origin as well as by
circumstance; who lived in affluence, were friendly to the established
church, enjoyed a liberal education, and naturally assumed the reins of
power. The law which gave fifty acres of land to the settler who imported
an emigrant, while it made for the enlargement of estates, created also a
large number of tenants and dependants, who would be likely to support
their patrons and proprietors, who exercised so much control over their
welfare. These dependants found the conditions of existence comfortable,
and even after they had become their own masters, they would be likely to
consult the wishes of the men who had been the occasion of their good
fortune. Neither education nor religious instruction were so readily
obtainable as to threaten to render such a class discontented with their
condition by opening to them hitherto unknown gates of advantage; and the
suffrage, when by ownership of private property they had qualified
themselves to exercise it, would at once appease their independent
instincts, and at the same time make them willing, in using it, to follow
the lead or suggestion of men so superior to them in intelligence and in
political sagacity. From this standpoint, then, it seemed probable that a
self-governing community of the special kind existing in Virginia would
drift toward an aristocratic form of rule.

But the matter could be regarded in another way. Free suffrage is a power
having a principle of life within itself; it creates in the mind that
which did not before exist, and educates its possessor first by prompting
him to ask himself of what improvement his condition is susceptible, and
then by forcing him to review his desire by the light of its realization
--by practical experience of its effects, in other words: a method whose
teachings are more thorough and convincing than any school or college is
able to supply. The use of the ballot, in short, as a means of instruction
in the problems of government, takes the place of anything else; it will
of itself build up a people both capable of conducting their own affairs,
and resolved to do so. The plebeians of Virginia, therefore, who began by
being poor and ignorant emigrants, or indentured servants, to whom the
planters accorded such privileges because it had never occurred to them
that a plebeian can ever become anything else--these men, unconsciously to
themselves, perhaps, were on the road which leads to democracy. The time
would come when they would cease to follow the lead of the planters; when
their interests and the planters' would clash. In that collision, their
numbers would give them the victory. With a similar community planted in
the old world, such might not be the issue; the strong influence of
tradition would combat it, and the surrounding pressure of settled
countries, which offered no escape or asylum for the man of radical ideas.
But the boundaries of Virginia were the untrammeled wilderness; any man
who could not have his will in the colony had this limitless expanse at
his disposal; there could be no finality for him in the decrees of
assemblies, if he possessed the courage of his convictions in sufficient
measure to make him match himself against the red man, and be independent
not only of any special form of society, but of society itself. The
consciousness of this would hearten him to entertain free thoughts, and to
strive for their embodiment. It was partly this, no doubt, which, in the
Seventeenth Century, drove hundreds of Ishmaels into the interior, where
they became the Daniel Boones and the Davy Crocketts of legend and
romance. So, although Virginia was as little likely as any of the colonies
to breed a democracy, yet even there it was a more than possible outcome
of the situation, even with no outside stimulus. But the old world,
because it desired the oppression of America, was to become the immediate
agent of its emancipation.

There was rejoicing in Virginia when Charles II. acceded to power; on the
part of the planters, because they saw opportunity for political
distinction; on the part of the plebeians, as the expression of a loyalty
to kingship which centuries had made instinctive in them. Berkeley,
putting himself in line with the predominant feeling, summoned the
assembly in the name of the king, thus announcing without rebuke the
termination of the era of self-government. The members who were elected
were mostly royalists. They met in 1661. It was found that the Navigation
Acts, which had been a dead letter ever since their passage, were to be
revived in full force; and the increase of the colony in the meanwhile
made them more than ever unwelcome. The exports were much larger than
before, and unless the colony could have a free market for them the
profits must be materially lessened. And again, since England was the only
country from which the Virginian could purchase supplies, her merchants
could charge him what they pleased. This was galling alike to royalists
and roundheads in Virginia, and quickly healed the breach, such as it was,
between the parties. Charles's true policy would have been to widen the
gulf between them; instead of that, he forced them into each other's arms.
It was determined to send Berkeley to England to ask relief; he accepted
the commission, but his sympathies were not with the colonists, and he
obtained nothing. Evidently, there could be no relief but in independence,
and it was still a hundred years too early for that. The exasperation
which this state of things produced in the great landowners did more for
the cause of democracy than could decades of peaceful evolution. But the
colonists could no longer have things their own way. Liberal laws were
repealed, and intolerance and oppression took their place. Heretics were
persecuted; the power of the church in civil affairs was increased; and
fines and taxes on the industry of the colony were wanton and excessive.
The king of England directly ruled Virginia. The people were forced to pay
Berkeley a thousand pounds sterling as his salary, and he declared he
ought to get three times as much even as that. His true character was
beginning to appear. The judges were appointed by the king, and the
license thus given them resulted in a petty despotism; when an official
wanted money, he caused a tax to be levied for the amount. Appeals were
vain, and ere long were prohibited. The assembly, partisans of the king,
declared themselves permanent, so that all chance for the people to be
better represented was gone, and as the members fixed their own pay, and
fixed it at a preposterous figure, the colony began to groan in earnest.
But worse was to come. The suffrage was restricted to freeholders and
householders, and at a stroke, all but a fraction of the colonists were
deprived of any voice in their own government. The spread of education,
never adequate, was stopped altogether. "I thank God there are no free
schools nor printing," Sir William Berkeley was able to say, "and I hope
we shall not have, these hundred years; for learning has brought
disobedience and heresy and sects into the world, and printing has
divulged them, and libels against the best government. God keep us from
both!" This was a succinct and full formulation of the spirit which has
ever tended to make the earth a hell for its inhabitants. "The ministers,"
added the governor, "should pray oftener, and preach less." But he spake
in all solemnity; there was not the ghost of a sense of humor in his whole
insufferable carcass.

The downward course was not to stop here. Charles, with the
freehandedness of a highwayman, presented two of his favorites, in 1673,
for a term of one and thirty years, with the entire colony! This act
stirred even the soddenness of the legislature. At the time of their
election, a dozen years before, they had been royalists indeed, but men of
honor, intending the good of the colony; and had tried, as we saw, to stop
the enforcement of the Navigation Acts. But when they discovered that they
could continue themselves in office indefinitely, with such salary as they
chose to demand, they soon became indifferent about the Navigation Acts,
or anything else which respected the welfare and happiness of their
fellows. Let the common folk do the work, and the better sort enjoy the
proceeds: that was the true and only respectable arrangement. We may say
that it sounds like a return to the dark ages; but perhaps if we enter
into our closets and question ourselves closely, we shall find that
precisely the same principles for which Berkeley and his assembly stood in
1673, are both avowed and carried into effect in this same country, in the
very year of grace which is now passing over us. A nation, even in
America, takes a great deal of teaching.

But the generosity of Charles startled the assembly out of their porcine
indifference, for it threatened to bring to bear upon them the same
practices by which they had destroyed the happiness of the colony. If the
king had given over to these two men all sovereignty in Virginia, what was
to prevent these gentlemen from dissolving the assembly, who had become,
as it were, incorporate with their seats, and had hoped to die in them--
and ruling the country and them without any legislative medium whatever?
Accordingly, with gruntings of dismay, they chose three agents to sail
forthwith to England, and expostulate with the merry monarch. The
expostulation was couched in the most servile terms, as of men who love to
be kicked, but hope to live, if only to be kicked again. Might the colony,
they concluded, be permitted to buy itself out of the hands of its new
owners, at their own price? And might the people of Virginia be free from
any tax not approved by their assembly? That was the sum of their petition.

The king let his lawyers talk over the matter, and, when they reported
favorably, good-naturedly said, "So let it be, then!" and permitted a
charter to be drawn up. But before the broad seal could be affixed to it
he altered his mind, for causes satisfactory to him, and the envoys were
sent home, poorer than they came. But before relating what awaited them
there, we must advert briefly to the doings of George Calvert, Lord
Baltimore in the Irish peerage, in his new country of Maryland.



CHAPTER SIXTH

CATHOLIC, PHILOSOPHER, AND REBEL


The first Lord Baltimore, whose family name was Calvert, was a
Yorkshireman, born at the town of Kipling in 1580. He entered Parliament
in his thirtieth year, and was James's Secretary of State ten years later.
He was a man of large, tranquil nature, philosophic, charitable, loving
peace; but these qualities were fused by a concrete tendency of thought,
which made him a man of action, and determined that action in the
direction of practical schemes of benevolence. The contemporary interest
in America as a possible arena of enterprise and Mecca of religious and
political dissenters, attracted his sympathetic attention; and when, in
1625, being then five-and-forty years of age, he found in the Roman
Catholic communion a refuge from the clamor of warring sects, and as an
immediate consequence tendered his resignation as secretary to the head of
the Church of England, he found himself with leisure to put his designs in
execution. He had, upon his conversion, been raised to the rank of Baron
Baltimore in the peerage of Ireland; and his change of faith in no degree
forfeited him the favor of the king. When therefore he asked for a charter
to found a colony in Avalon, in Newfoundland, it was at once granted, and
the colony was sent out; but his visits to it in 1627 and 1629 convinced
him that the climate was too inclement for his purposes, and he requested
that it might be transferred to the northern parts of Virginia, which he
had visited on his way to England. This too was permitted; but before the
new charter had been sealed Lord Baltimore died. The patent thereupon
passed to his son Cecil, who was also a Catholic. He devoted his life to
carrying out his father's designs. The characters of the two men were, in
their larger elements, not dissimilar; and the sequel showed that colonial
enterprise could be better achieved by one man of kindly and liberal
disposition, and persistent resolve, than by a corporation, some of whose
members were sure to thwart the wishes of others. Conditions of wider
scope than the settlement of Maryland obstructed and delayed its
proprietor's plans; conflicts and changes of government in England, and
jealousy and violence on the part of Virginia, had their influence; but
this quiet, benign, resolute young man (who was but seven-and-twenty when
the grant made him sovereign of a kingdom) never lost his temper or
swerved from his aim: overcame, apparently without an effort, the
disabilities which might have been expected to hamper the professor of a
faith as little consonant with the creed of the two Charleses as of
Cromwell; was as well regarded, politically, by cavaliers as by
roundheads; and finally established his ownership and control of his
heritage, and, after a beneficent rule of over forty years, died in peace
and honor with his people and the world. The story of colonial Maryland
has a flavor of its own, and throws still further light on the subject of
popular self-government--the source and solution of American history.

The idea of the Baltimores, as outlined in their charter, and followed in
their practice, was to try the experiment of a democratic monarchy. They
would found a state the people of which should enjoy all the freedom of
action and thought that sane and well-disposed persons can desire, within
the boundaries of their personal concerns; they should not be meddled
with; each man's home should be his castle; they should say what taxes
should be collected, and what civil officers should attend to their
collective affairs. They should be like passengers on a ship, free to
sleep or wake, sit or walk, speak or be mute, eat or fast, as they
pleased: do anything in fact except scuttle the ship or cut the rigging
--or ordain to what port she should steer, or what course the helmsman
should lay. Matters of high policy, in other words, should be the care of
the proprietor; everything less than that, broadly speaking, should be
left to the colonists themselves. The proprietor could not get as close to
their personal needs as they could: and they, preoccupied with private
interests, could not see so far and wide as he could. If then it were
arranged that they should be afforded every facility and encouragement to
make their wants known: and if it were guaranteed that he would adopt
every means that experience, wisdom and good-will suggested to gratify
those wants: what more could mortal man ask? There was nothing abnormal in
the idea. The principle is the same as that on which the Creator has
placed man in nature: man is perfectly at liberty to do as he pleases;
only, he must adapt himself to the law of gravitation, to the resistance
of matter, to hot and cold, wet and dry, and to the other impersonal
necessities by which the material universe is conditioned. The control of
these natural laws, as they are called, could not advantageously be given
in charge to man; even had he the brains to manage them, he could not
spare the time from his immediate concerns. He is well content,
accordingly, to leave them to the Power that put him where he is; and he
does not feel his independence infringed upon in so doing. When his little
business goes wrong, however, he can petition his Creator to help him out:
or, what amounts to the same thing, he can find out in what respect he has
failed to conform to the laws of nature, and, by returning into harmony
with them, insure himself success. What the Creator was to mankind at
large, Lord Baltimore proposed to be to his colony; and, following this
supreme example, and binding himself to place the welfare of his people
before all other considerations, how could he make a mistake?

In arguments about the best ways of managing nations or communities, it
has been generally conceded that this scheme of an executive head on one
side, and a people freely communicating their wants to him on the other,
is sound, provided, first, that he is as solicitous about their welfare as
they themselves are; and secondly, that means exist for continuous and
unchecked intercommunication between them and him:--it being premised, of
course, that the ability of the head is commensurate with his willingness.
And leaving basic principles for the moment aside, it is notorious that
one-man power is far prompter, weightier, and cleaner-cut than the
confused and incomplete compromises of a body of representatives are apt
to be.

All this may be conceded. And yet experience shows that the one-man
system, even when the man is a Lord Baltimore, is unsatisfactory. Lord
Baltimore, indeed, finally achieved a technical success; his people loved
and honored him, his wishes were measurably realized, and, so far as he
was concerned, Maryland was the victim of fewer mistakes than were the
other colonies. But the fact that Lord Baltimore's career closed in peace
and credit was due less to what he did and desired, than to the necessity
his career was under of sooner or later coming to a close. Had he
possessed a hundred times the ability and benevolence that were his, and
had been immortal into the bargain, the people would have cast him out;
they were willing to tolerate him for a few years, more or less, but as a
fixture--No! "Tolerate" is too harsh a word; but another might be too
weak. The truth is, men do not care half so much what they get, as how
they get it. The wolf in Aesop's fable keenly wanted a share of the bones
which made his friend the mastiff so sleek; but the hint that the bones
and the collar went together drove him hungry but free back to his desert.
It is of no avail to give a man all he asks for; he resents having to ask
you for it, and wants to know by what right you have it to give. A man can
be grateful for friendship, for a sympathetic look, for a brave word
spoken in his behalf against odds--he can be your debtor for such things,
and keep his manhood uncompromised. But if you give him food, and ease, or
preferment, and condescension therewith, look for no thanks from him;
esteem yourself fortunate if he do not hold you his enemy. The gifts of
the soul are free; but material benefits are captivity. So the Maryland
colonists, recognizing that their proprietor meant well, forgave him his
generosity, and his activities in their behalf--but only because they knew
that his day would presently be past. Man is infinite as well as finite:
infinite in his claims, finite in his power of giving. And for Baltimore
to presume to give the people all they claimed, was as much as to say that
his fullness could equal their want, or that his rights and capacities
were more than theirs. He gave them all that a democracy can possess
--except the one thing that constitutes democracy; that is, absolute
self-direction. It may well be that their little ship of state, steered by
themselves, would have encountered many mishaps from which his sagacious
guidance preserved it. But rather rocks with their pilotage than port with
his: and beyond forgiving him their magnanimity could not go.

There is little more than this to be derived from study of the Maryland
experiment. Let a man manage himself, in big as well as in little things,
and he will be happy on raw clams and plain water, with a snow-drift for a
pillow--as we saw him happy in Plymouth Bay: but give him roast ortolans
and silken raiment, and manage him never so little, and you cannot relieve
his discontent. And is it not well that it should be so? Verily it is--if
America be not a dream, and immortality a delusion.

Lord Baltimore would perhaps have liked to see all his colonists
Catholics; but his experience of religious intolerance had not inflamed
him against other creeds than his own, as would have been the case with a
Spaniard; it seemed to awaken a desire to set tolerance an example. Any
one might join his community except felons and atheists; and as a matter
of fact, his assortment of colonists soon became as motley as that of
Williams in Providence. The landing of the first expedition on an island
in the Potomac was attended by the making and erecting by the Jesuit
priests of a rude cross, and the celebration of mass; but there were even
then more Protestants than Catholics in the party; and though the
leadership was Catholic for many years, it was not on account of the
numerical majority of persons of that faith. Episcopalians ejected from
New England, Puritans fleeing from the old country, Quakers and
Anabaptists who were unwelcome everywhere else, met with hospitality in
Maryland. Let them but believe in Jesus Christ, and all else was forgiven
them. Nevertheless, Catholicism was the religion of the country. Its
inhabitants might be likened to promiscuous guests at an inn whose
landlord made no criticisms on their beliefs, further than to inscribe the
Papal insignia on the signboard over his door. Thus liberty was
discriminated from license, and in the midst of tolerance there was order.

The first settlement was made on a small creek entering the north side of
the Potomac. Here an Indian village already existed; but its occupants
were on the point of deserting it, and were glad to accept payment from
the colonists for the site which they had no further use for. On the other
hand, the colonists could avail themselves of the wigwams just as they
stood, and had their maize fields ready cleared. Baltimore, meanwhile,
through his agent (and brother) Leonard Calvert, furnished them with all
the equipment they needed; and so well was the way smoothed before them,
that the colony made progress ten times as rapidly as Virginia had done.
They called their new home St. Mary's; and the date of its occupation was
1634. Their first popular assembly met for legislation in the second month
of the ensuing year. In that and subsequent meetings they asserted their
right of jurisdiction, their right to enact laws, the freedom of "holy
church": his lordship gently giving them their head. In 1642, perhaps to
disburden themselves of some of their obligation to him, they voted him a
subsidy. Almost the only definite privilege which he seems to have
retained was that of pre-emption of lands. At this period (1643) all
England was by the ears, and Baltimore's hold upon his colony was relaxed.
In Virginia and the other colonies, which had governors of their own, the
neglect of the mother country gave them opportunity for progress; but the
people of Maryland, no longer feeling the sway of their non-resident
proprietor, and having no one else to look after them, became disorderly;
which would not have happened, had they been empowered to elect a ruler
from among themselves. Baltimore's enemies took advantage of these
disturbances to petition for his removal from the proprietorship; but he
was equal to the occasion; and by confirming his colonists in all just
liberties, with freedom of conscience in the foreground, he composed their
dissensions, and took away his enemies' ground of complaint. In 1649, the
legislature sat for the first time in two branches, so that one might be a
check upon the other. Upon this principle all American legislatures are
still formed.

But the reign of Cromwell in England gave occasion for sophistries in
Maryland. All other Englishmen, in the colonies or at home, were members
of a commonwealth; but Baltimore still claimed the Marylanders'
allegiance. On what grounds?--for since the king from whom he derived his
power was done away with, so must be the derivative power. Baltimore stood
between them and republicanism. To give edge to the predicament, the
colony was menaced by covetous Virginia on one hand, and by fugitive
Charles II., with a governor of his own manufacture, on the other.
Calamity seemed at hand.

In 1650, the year after Charles I.'s execution, the Parliament appointed
commissioners to bring royalist colonies into line; Maryland was to be
reannexed to Virginia; Bennett, then governor of Virginia, and Clairborne,
unseated Stone, Baltimore's lieutenant, appointed an executive council,
and ordered that burgesses were to be elected by supporters of Cromwell
only. The question of reannexation was referred to Parliament. Baltimore
protested that Maryland had been less royalist than Virginia; and before
the Parliament could decide what to do, it was dissolved, carrying with it
the authority of Bennett and Clairborne. Stone now reappeared defiant; but
the Virginians attacked him, and he surrendered on compulsion. The
Virginian government decreed that no Roman Catholics could hereafter vote
or be elected.

Baltimore, taking his stand on his charter, declared these doings
mutinous; and Cromwell supported him. Stone once more asserted himself;
but in the skirmish with the Virginians that followed, he was defeated,
yielded (he seems to have had no granite in his composition), and, with
his supporters, was ordered to be shot. His life was spared, however; but
Cromwell, again appealed to, refused to act. The ownership of Maryland was
therefore still undetermined. It was not until 1667 that Baltimore and
Bennett agreed to compromise their dispute. The boundary between the two
domains was maintained, but settlers from Virginia were not to be
disturbed in their holdings. The second year after Cromwell's death, the
representatives of Maryland met and voted themselves an independent
assembly, making Fendall, Baltimore's appointee, subject to their will.
Finally, being weary of turmoil, they made it felony to alter what they
had done. The colony was then abreast of Virginia in political privileges,
and had a population of about ten thousand, in spite of its vicissitudes.

But the quiet, invincible Lord Baltimore was still to be reckoned with.
At the Restoration, he sent his deputy to the colony, which submitted to
his authority, and Fendall was convicted of treason for having allowed the
assembly to overrule him. A general amnesty was proclaimed, however, and
the kindliness of the government during the remainder of the proprietor's
undisputed sway attracted thousands of settlers from all the nations of
Europe. Between Baltimore and the people, a give-and-take policy was
established, one privilege being set against another, so that their
liberties were maintained, and his rights recognized. Though he stood in
his own person for all that was opposed to democracy, he presided over a
community which was essentially democratic; and he had the breadth of mind
to acknowledge that because he owned allegiance to kings and popes, was no
reason why others should do so. Suum cuique. Could he but have gone a step
further, and denied himself the gratification of retaining his hard-earned
proprietorship, he would have been one of the really great men of history.

The ripple of events which we have recorded may seem too insignificant;
of still less import is the story of the efforts of Clairborne, from 1634:
to 1647, to gain, or retain possession of Kent Island, in the Chesapeake,
on which he had "squatted" before Baltimore got his charter. Yet, from
another point of view, even slight matters may weigh when they are related
to the stirring of the elements which are to crystallize into a nation.
Maryland, like a bird half tamed, was ready to fly away when the cage door
was left open, and yet was not averse to its easy confinement when the
door was shut again. But, unlike the bird, time made it fonder of liberty,
instead of leading it to forget it; and when the cage fell apart, it was
at home in the free air.

The settlement of the Carolinas, during the twenty years or so from 1660
to 1680, presented features of singular grotesqueness. There was, on one
side, a vast wilderness covering the region now occupied by North and
South Carolina, and westward to the Pacific. It had been nibbled at, for a
hundred years, by Spaniards, French and English, but no permanent hold had
been got upon it. Here were thousands upon thousands of square miles in
which nature rioted unrestrained, with semi-tropic fervor; the topography
of which was unknown, and whose character in any respect was a matter of
pure conjecture. This wilderness was on one side; on the other were a
worthless king, a handful of courtiers, and a couple of highly gifted
doctrinaires, Lord Shaftesbury and John Locke, the philosopher. We can
picture Charles II. lolling in his chair, with a map of the Americas
spread out on his knees, while the other gentlemen in big wigs and silk
attire, and long rapiers dangling at their sides, are grouped about him.
"I'll give you all south of Virginia," says he, indicating the territory
with a sweep of his long fingers. "Ashley, you and your friend Locke can
draw up a constitution, and stuff it full of your fine ideas; they sound
well: we'll see how they work. You shall be kings every man of you; and
may you like it no worse than I do! You'll have no France or Holland to
thwart you--only bogs and briers and a few naked blacks. Your charter
shall pass the seals to-morrow: and much good may it do you!"

So the theorists and the courtiers set out to subdue the untutored
savageness of nature with a paper preamble and diagrams and rules and
inhibitions, and orders of nobility and a college of heralds, and
institutions of slavery and serfdom, and definitions of freeholders and
landgraves, caciques and palatines; and specifications of fifths for
proprietors, fifths for the nobility, and the rest for the common herd,
who were never to be permitted to be anything but the common herd, with no
suffrage, no privileges, and no souls. All contingencies were provided
against, except the one contingency, not wholly unimportant, that none of
the proposals of the Model Constitution could be carried into effect.
Strange, that Ashley Cooper--as Lord Shaftesbury was then--one of the most
brilliant men in Europe, and John Locke, should get together and draw
squares over a sheet of paper, each representing four hundred and eighty
thousand acres, with a cacique and landgraves and their appurtenances in
each--and that they should fail to perceive that corresponding areas would
never be marked out in the pathless forests, and that noblemen could not
be found nor created to take up their stand, like chessmen, each in his
lonely and inaccessible morass or mountain or thicket, and exercise the
prerogatives of the paper preamble over trees and panthers and birds of
the air! How could men of such radiant intelligence as Locke and
Shaftesbury unquestionably were, show themselves so radically ignorant of
the nature of their fellowmen, and of the elementary principles of
colonization? The whole thing reads, to-day, like some stupendous jest;
yet it was planned in grave earnest, and persons were found to go across
the Atlantic and try to make it work.

Lord Shaftesbury was one of the Hampshire Coopers, and the first earl. He
was a sort of English Voltaire: small and thin, nervous and fractious,
with a great cold brain, no affections and no illusions; he had faith in
organizations, but none in man; was destitute of compunctions, careless of
conventions and appearances, cynical, penetrating, and frivolous. He was a
skeptic in religion, but a devotee of astrology; easily worried in safety,
but cool and audacious in danger. He despised if he did not hate the
people, and regarded kings as an unavoidable nuisance; the state, he
thought, was the aristocracy, whose business it was to keep the people
down and hold the king in check. His career--now supporting the royalists,
now the roundheads, now neither--seems incoherent and unprincipled; but in
truth he was one of the least variable men of his time; he held to his
course, and king and parliament did the tacking. He was an incorruptible
judge, though he took bribes; and an unerring one, though he disregarded
forms of law. He was tried for treason, and acquitted; joined the Monmouth
conspiracy, and escaped to Holland, where he died at the age of sixty-two.
What he lacked was human sympathies, which are the beginning of wisdom;
and this deficiency it was, no doubt, that led him into the otherwise
incomprehensible folly of the Carolina scheme.

Locke could plead the excuse of being totally unfamiliar with practical
life; he was a philosopher of abstractions, who made an ideal world to fit
his theories about it. He could write an essay on the Understanding, but
was unversed in Common-sense. His nature was more calm and normal than
Shaftesbury's, but in their intellectual conclusions they were not
dissimilar. The views about the common people which Sir William Berkeley
expressed with stupid brutality, they stated with punctual elegance. They
were well mated for the purpose in hand, and they performed it with due
deliberation and sobriety. It was not until five years after the grant was
made that the constitution was written and sealed. It achieved an
instantaneous success in England, much as a brilliant novel might, in our
time; and the authors were enthusiastically belauded. The proprietors
--Albemarle, Craven, Clarendon, Berkeley, Sir William Berkeley, Sir John
Colleton and Sir George Carteret, and Shaftesbury himself--began to look
about for their serfs and caciques, and to think of their revenues.
Meanwhile the primeval forest across three thousand miles of ocean laughed
with its innumerable leaves, and waved its boughs in the breath of the
spirit of liberty. The laws of the study went forth to battle with the
laws of nature.

Ignorant of these courtly and scholarly proceedings, a small knot of
bonafide settlers had built their huts on Albemarle Sound, and had for
some years been living there in the homeliest and most uneducated peace
and simplicity. Some had come from Virginia, some from New England, and
others from the island of Bermuda. They had their little assembly and
their governor Stevens, their humble plantations, their modest trade,
their beloved solitudes, and the plainest and least obtrusive laws
imaginable. They paddled up and down their placid bayous and rivers in
birch-bark canoes; they shot deer and 'possums for food and panthers for
safety, they loved their wives and begat their children, they wore shirts
and leggins of deerskin like the Indians, and they breathed the pure
wholesomeness of the warm southern air. When to these backwoods innocents
was borne from afar the marvelous rumors of the silk-stockinged and
lace-ruffled glories, originated during an idle morning in the king's
dressing-room, which were to transfigure their forest into trim gardens
and smug plantations, surrounding royal palaces and sumptuous hunting
pavilions, perambulated by uniformed officials, cultivated by meek armies
of serfs, looking up from their labors only to doff their caps to lordly
palatines and lily-fingered ladies with high heels and low corsages: when
they tried to picture to themselves their solemn glades and shadow-haunted
streams and inviolate hills, their eyries of eagles and lairs of stag and
puma, the savage beauty of their perilous swamps, all the wild
magnificence of this pure home of theirs--metamorphosed by royal edict
into a magnified Versailles, in which lutes and mandolins should take the
place of the wolf's howl and the panther's scream, the keen scent of the
pine balsam be replaced by the reek of musk and patchouli, the honest
sanctity of their couches of fern give way to the embroidered corruption
of a fine lady's bedchamber, the simple vigor of their pioneer parliament
bewitch itself into a glittering senate chamber, where languid chancellors
fingered their golden chains and exchanged witty epigrams with big-wigged,
snuff-taking cavaliers:--when they attempted to house these strange ideas
in their unsophisticated brains, they must have stared at one another with
a naive perplexity which slowly broadened their tanned and bearded visages
into contagious grins. They looked at their hearty, clear-eyed wives, and
watched the gambols of their sturdy children, and shook their heads, and
turned to their work once more.

The first movements of the new dispensation took the form of trying to
draw the colonists together into towns, of reviving the Navigation Acts,
of levying taxes on their infant commerce, and in general of tying fetters
of official red tape on the brawny limbs of a primitive and natural
civilization. The colony was accused of being the refuge of outlaws and
traitors, rogues and heretics; and Sir William Berkeley, governor of
Virginia, one of the proprietors under the Model Constitution, was deputed
to make as much mischief in the virgin settlement as he could.

The colonists numbered about four thousand, spread over a large
territory; they did not want to desert their palmetto thatched cabins and
strenuously-cleared acres; they disliked crowding into towns; they saw no
justice in paying to intangible and alien proprietors a penny tax on their
tobacco exports to New England--though they paid it nevertheless. They
particularly objected to the interference of Governor Berkeley, for they
knew him well. And when the free election of their assembly was attacked,
they sent emissaries to England to remonstrate, and meanwhile, John
Culpepper leading, and without waiting for the return of their emissaries,
they arose and wiped out the things and persons that were objectionable,
and then returned serenely to their business. They did not fly into a
passion, and froth at the mouth, and massacre and torture; but quietly and
inflexibly, with hardly a keener flash from their fearless eyes, they put
things to rights, and thought no more about it.

Such treasonable proceedings, however, fluttered the council chambers in
London sorely, and stout John Culpepper, who believed in popular liberty
and was not afraid to say so, went to England to justify what had been
done. He was arrested and put on trial, though he demanded to be tried, if
at all, in the place where the offense was committed. The intent of his
adversaries was not to give him justice, but simply to hang him; and why
go to the trouble and expense of carrying him to Carolina to do that? He
went near to becoming a martyr, did stout John; but, unexpectedly,
Shaftesbury, who might believe in despotism, but who fretted to behold
injustice, undertook his defense and brought him out clear. The rest of
the "rebels" were amnestied the following year, 1681. But one Seth Sothel,
who had bought out Lord Clarendon's proprietary rights, was sent out as
governor; and after escaping from the Algerine pirates, who captured and
kept him for a couple of years, he arrived at Albemarle, commissioned, as
Bancroft admirably puts it, to "Transform a log cabin into a baronial
castle, a negro slave into a herd of leet-men." Sothel was not long in
perceiving that this was beyond his powers, but he could steal: and so he
did for a few years, when the colonists, thinking he had enough, unseated
him, tried him, and sentenced him to a year's exile and to nevermore be
officer of theirs.

These planters of North Carolina were good Americans from the beginning,
endowed with a courage and love of liberty which foretold the spirit of
Washington's army,--and a religious tolerance which did not prevent them
from listening with sympathy and approval to the spiritual harangues of
Fox, the Quaker, who sojourned among them with gratifying results. Their
prejudice against towns continued, and one must walk far to visit them,
with only marks on the forest trees to guide. They were inveterately
contented, and having emancipated themselves from the blight of the Model
Constitution, rapidly became prosperous. The only effect of Messrs. Locke
and Shaftesbury's scheme of an aristocratic Utopia was to make the
settlers conscious of their strength and devoted to their freedom. Indeed,
the North Carolinians were in great part men who had not only fled from
the oppressions of England, but had found even the mild restraints of the
other colonies irksome.

The fate of the Model in South Carolina was similar, though the
preliminary experiences were different. When Joseph West, agent for the
proprietors, and William Sayle, experienced in colonizing, took three
shiploads of emigrants to the junction of the Ashley and Cooper rivers,
about twenty miles south of latitude 33°, they had a copy of the Model
with them. But the first thing they did after getting ashore was to vote
that its provisions were impracticable, and to revise it to such a degree
that, when it was sent over to England for approval, its authors did not
recognize their work, and disowned it. But the settlers constituted their
assembly on the general lines which might now be called American, and put
up their huts, in 1672, on the ground where now stands Charleston. The
climate was too hot for white labor, and the timely arrival of negro
slaves was welcome; in a few years they doubled the number of the whites.
The staple crops of the southern plantations needed much more work than
those of New England and the north, and this, as well as the preference of
the negroes themselves for the warmer climates, determined the
distribution of black slavery on the Atlantic coast.

Dutch settlers presently joined the English; a Scotch-Irish colony at
Port Royal was set upon by the Spaniards, who, in accordance with the
characteristic Spanish policy, massacred the inhabitants and burned the
houses. But later the revocation by Louis XIV. of the amnesty to Huguenots
caused the latter to fly their country and disperse themselves over Europe
and America; no higher or finer class of men and women ever joined the
ranks of exile, and they were everywhere welcomed. Colonies of them
settled all along the Atlantic seaboard; and around Charleston many from
Languedoc found a congenial home, and became a valuable and distinguished
part of the population. America could not have been complete without the
leaven of the heroic French Protestants.

Meanwhile the proprietors were gradually submitting, with no good grace,
however, to the inevitable. Their Model remained a model--something never
to be put to practical use. On paper was it born, and on paper should it
remain forever. The proprietors were kings, by grace of Charles II., but
they had neither army nor navy, and their subjects declined to be serfs.
They declined into the status of land speculators; the governors whom they
sent out did nothing but fill their pockets and let the people have the
rest. At last, it was enough for the proprietors to suggest anything for
the people to negative it, whether it were good or bad. They not only
avowed their natural right to do as they pleased, but deemed it due to
their self-respect not to do what was pleasing to their tinsel sovereigns
in London. And finally, when Colleton, one of the sovereigns in question,
tried to declare martial law in the colony, on the plea of danger from
Indians or Spanish, the indomitable freemen treated him as their brethren
at Albemarle had treated Sothel. The next year saw William and Mary on the
English throne; Shaftesbury had died seven years before; and the Great
Model subsided without a bubble into the vacuum of historical absurdities.

We left Virginia awaiting the return of the envoys who had gone to ask
Charles for justice and protection against the tyranny of Berkeley.
Charles, as we know, first promised the reforms, and then broke his
promise, as all Stuarts must. But before the envoys could return with
their heavy news, there had been stirring things done and suffered in
Virginia.

The character of Berkeley is as detestable as any known in the annals of
the American colonies. Many of his acts, and all the closing scenes of his
career, seem hardly compatible with moral sanity; in our day, when science
is so prone to find the explanation of crime in insanity, he would
undoubtedly have been adjudged to the nearest asylum. In his early years,
he had been stupid and illiberal, but nothing worse; in his old age, he
seemed to seek out opportunities of wickedness and outrage, and at last he
gave way to transports which could only be likened to those of a fiend
from the Pit, permitted for a season to afflict the earth. He was as base
as he was wicked; a thief, and perjured, as well as an insatiable
murderer. The only trait that seems to ally him with manhood is itself
animal and repulsive. He had wholly abandoned any pretense of
self-control; and in some of the outbursts of his frenzy he seems to have
become insensible even to the suggestions of physical fear. But this can
hardly be accorded the name of courage; rather is it to be attributed to
the suffusion of blood to the brain which drives the Malay to run amuck.

Virginia had been nurtured in liberty, and was ill prepared for
despotism. On the contrary, she was almost ready to doubt the wisdom or
convenience of any government whatever, except such as was spontaneously
furnished by the generous and magnanimous instincts of her people. There
were no towns, and none of the vice and selfishness which crowded
populations engender. Roads, bridges, public works of any sort were
unknown; the population seldom met except at races or to witness court
proceedings. The great planters lived in comparative comfort, but they
were as much in love with freedom as were the common people. This state of
things was the outcome of the growth of fifty years; and most of the eight
thousand inhabitants of the colony were born on the soil, and loved it as
the only home they knew.

The chief injury they had suffered was from the depredations of the
Indians, who, on their side, could plead that they had received less than
justice at the colonists' hands. Border raids and killings became more and
more frequent and alarming; the savages had learned the use of muskets,
and were good marksmen. They built a fort on the Maryland border, and for
a time resisted siege operations; and when at length some of the chiefs
came out to parley, they were seized and shot. The rest of the Indian
garrison escaped by night, and slaughtered promiscuously all whom they
could surprise along the countryside. A force was raised to check them,
and avenge the murders; but before it could come in contact with them,
Berkeley sent out a peremptory summons that they should return.

What was the explanation of this extraordinary step? Simply that the
Governor had the monopoly of the Indian trade, which was very valuable,
and would not permit the Indians who traded with him to be driven away. In
order to supply his already overloaded pockets with money, he was willing
to see the red men murder with impunity, and with the brutalities of
torture and outrage, the men, women and children of his own race. But the
Indians themselves seem admirable in contrast with the inhumanity of this
gray-haired, wine-bloated, sordid cavalier of seventy.

The troops on which the safety of the colonists depended reluctantly
retired. Immediately the savages renewed their attacks; three hundred
settlers were killed. Still Berkeley refused to permit anything to be
done; forts might be erected on the borders, but these, besides being of
great expense to the people, were wholly useless for their defense,
inasmuch as the savages could without difficulty slip by them under cover
of the forest. The raids continued, and the plantations were abandoned,
till not one in seven remained. The inhabitants were terror-stricken; no
man's life was safe. At last permission was asked that the people might
raise and equip a force at their own expense, in the exercise of the
universal right of self-protection; but even this was violently forbidden
by the Governor, who threatened punishment on any who should presume to
take arms against them. All traffic with them had also been interdicted;
but it was known that Berkeley himself continued his trading with those
whose hands were red with the blood of the wives, fathers and children of
Virginia.

Finally, in 1676, the report came that an army of Indians were
approaching Jamestown. Unless resistance were at once made, there seemed
nothing to prevent the extinction of the colony. Berkeley, apparently for
no better reason than that he would not recede from a position once taken,
adhered to his order that nothing should be done.

There was at that time in Virginia a young Englishman of about thirty,
named Nathaniel Bacon. He was descended from good ancestors, and had
received a thorough education, including terms in the Inns of Court. He
was intellectual, thoughtful, and self-contained, with a clear mind, a
generous nature, and the power of winning and controlling men. He had
arrived in the colony a little more than a year before, and had been
chosen to the council; he was wealthy and aristocratic, yet a known friend
of the people. Born in 1642, he was familiar with revolutions, and had
formed his own opinions as to the rights of man. He had a plantation on
the site of the present city of Richmond; and during the late Indian
troubles, had lost his overseer. Coming down on his affairs to Jamestown,
he fell into talk with some friends, who suggested crossing the river to
see some of the volunteers who had come together for defense. These men
were in a mood of excited exasperation at the sinister conduct of the
governor, and ready to follow extreme counsels had they had a leader with
the boldness and ability to put himself at their head.

The tall, slender figure and grave features of Bacon were well-known. As
he advanced toward the troop of stalwart young fellows, who were sullenly
discussing the situation, he was recognized; and something seems to have
suggested to them that he was come with a purpose. Conclusions are sudden
at such times, and impulses contagious as fire. He was the leader whom
they sought. "A Bacon--a Bacon!" shouted some one; and instantly the cry
was taken up. They thronged around him, welcoming him, cheering him,
exclaiming that they would follow him, that with them at his back he
should save the country in spite of the governor! They were fiery and
emotional, after the manner of the sons of the Old Dominion, and the
wrongs of many kinds which had long been rankling in their hearts now
demanded to be requited by some action--no matter how daring. Virginians
never shrank from danger.

Bacon had been wholly unprepared for this outburst; but he had a strong,
calm soul, a ready brain, and the blood of youth. He knew what the colony
had endured, and that it had nothing to hope from the present government.
He had come to America after making the European tour, intending only a
visit; but he had grown attached to Virginia, and now that chance had put
this opportunity to help her, he resolved to accept it. He would throw in
his lot with these spirited and fearless young patriots--the first men in
America who had the right to call the country their own. Standing before
them, with his head bared, and in a voice that all could hear, he solemnly
pledged himself to lead them against the Indians, and then aid them to
recover the liberties which had been wrested from them. "And do you," he
added, "pledge yourselves to me!" His words were heard with tumultuous
enthusiasm, and a round-robin was signed, binding all to stick to their
captain and to one another. That is a document which history would fain
have preserved.

With an army of three hundred Virginians, Bacon set forward against the
Indians. Meanwhile Berkeley, enraged at this slight on his authority,
called some troops together and despatched them to bring back "the
rebels." Thus was seen the singular spectacle of a government force
marching to apprehend men who were risking their lives freely to repel a
danger imminent and common to all.

But Berkeley was going too far. Bacon's act had the sympathy of all
except such as were as corrupt as the governor, and the men of the lower
counties revolted, and demanded that the long scandal of the continuous
assembly should cease forthwith. Berkeley was intimidated; he had not
believed that any spirit was left in the colony; he recalled his men, and
consented to the assembly's dissolution. By the time Bacon and his three
hundred got back from their successful campaign, the writs for a new
election were out; and he was unanimously chosen burgess from Henrico. The
assembly of which he thus became a member was for the most part in
sympathy with him; and though, for the benefit of the record, censure was
passed upon the irregularity of his campaign, and he was required to
apologize for fighting without a commission, yet he was at the same time
caressed and praised on all sides, returned to the council, and dubbed the
darling of Virginia's hopes. The assembly then proceeded to undo all the
evil and clean out all the rottenness that had disgraced the conduct of
their predecessors. Taxes, church tyranny, restriction of the franchise,
illegal assessments, fees, and liquor-dealing were done away with; two
magistrates were proved thieves and disfranchised, and trade with Indians
was for the present stopped. Bacon received a commission; but Berkeley
refused to sign it; and when Bacon appealed to the country, and returned
with five hundred men to demand his rights, the governor was beside
himself with fury.

Private letters and other documents, made public only long after this
date, are the authority for what occurred; but though certain facts are
given, explanations are seldom available. Berkeley appears to have been
holding court when Bacon and his followers appeared; it is said that he
ran out and confronted them, tore his shirt open and declared that sooner
should they shoot him than he would sign the commission of that rebel; and
the next moment, changing his tactics, he offered to settle the issue
between Bacon and himself by a duel. All this does not sound like the acts
of a man in his sober senses. It seems probable either that the old
reprobate was intoxicated, or that his mind was disordered by passion.
Bacon, of course, declined to match his youthful vigor against his
decrepit enemy, as the latter must have known he would: and told him
temperately that the commission he demanded was to enable him to repel the
savages who were murdering their fellow colonists unchecked. The governor,
after some further parley, again altered his behavior, and now overpowered
Bacon with maudlin professions of esteem for his patriotic energy; signed
his commission, and sent dispatches to England warmly commending him. A
formal amnesty, obliterating all past acts of the popular champion and his
supporters which could be construed as irregular, was drawn up and
ratified by the governor; and the clouds which so long had lowered over
Virginia seemed to have been at last in the deep bosom of the ocean
buried. To those whom coincidences interest it will be significant that
this victory for the people was won on the 4th of July, 1676.

Operations against the Indians were now vigorously resumed; but Berkeley
had not yet completed the catalogue of his iniquities. Bacon's back was
scarcely turned, before he violated the amnesty which he had just
ratified, and tried to rouse public sentiment against the liberator. In
this, however, he signally failed, as also in his attempt to raise a levy
to arrest him; and frightened at the revelation of his weakness, he fled
in a panic to Accomack, a peninsula on the eastern side of Chesapeake Bay.
Word of his proceedings had in the meantime been conveyed to Bacon by
Drummond, former governor of North Carolina, and Lawrence. "Shall he who
commissioned us to protect the country from the heathen, betray our
lives?" said Bacon. "I appeal to the king and parliament!" He established
himself in Williamsburg; at Drummond's suggestion Berkeley's flight was
taken to mean his withdrawal from the governorship--which, at any rate,
had now passed its appointed limit--and a summons was sent out to the
gentlemen of Virginia to meet for consultation as to the future conduct of
the colony. It was at this juncture that the envoys returned from England,
with the dark news that Charles had refused all relief.

At the conference, after full discussion, it was voted that the colony
take the law into their own hands, and maintain themselves not only
against the Indians and Berkeley, but if need were against England
herself. "I fear England no more than a broken straw," said Sarah
Drummond, snapping a stick in her hands as she spoke: the women of
Virginia were as resolved as the men. Pending these contingencies, Bacon
with his little army again set out in pursuit of the Indians; hearing
which, Berkeley, with a train of mercenaries which he had contrived to
collect, crossed from Accomack and landed at Jamestown, where he repeated
his refrain of "rebels!" He promised freedom to whatever slaves of the
colony would enlist on his side, and fortified the little town. The crews
of some English ships in the harbor assisted him; and in the sequel these
tars were the only ones of his rabble that stayed by him. The neighborhood
was alarmed, fearing any kind of enormity, and messengers rode through the
woods post haste, and swam the rivers, in the sultry September weather, to
find and recall their defenders, and summon them to resist a worse foe
than the red man. Before they could reach the young leader, the Indians
had been routed, the army disbanded, and Bacon, with a handful of
followers, was on his way to his plantation. They were weary with the
fatigues of the campaign, but on learning that the prime source of the
troubles was intrenched in Jamestown, and that "man, woman and child" were
in peril of slavery, they turned their horses' heads southeastward, and
galloped to the rescue. They gathered recruits on their way--no one could
resist the eloquence of Bacon--and halting at such of the plantations as
were owned by royalist sympathizers, they compelled their wives to mount
and accompany them as hostages. This indicates to what extremes the
violence of Berkeley was expected to go. It was evening when they came in
sight of the enemy. But the moon was already aloft, and as the western
light faded, her mellow radiance flooded the scene, giving it the
semblance of peace. But the impatient Virginians wished to attack at once;
and a lesser man than Bacon might have yielded to their urging. Knowing,
however, that the country was with him, and feeling that the enemy must
sooner or later succumb, he would not win by a dashing, bloody exploit
what time was sure to give him. He ordered an intrenchment to be dug, and
prepared for a siege. But there was no lust for battle in the disorderly
and incoherent force which the frantic appeals and reckless promises of
the governor had assembled; they were beaten already, and could not be
induced to make a sortie. Desertions began, and all the objurgations,
supplications and melodramatic extravaganzas of Berkeley were impotent to
stop them; the more shrilly he shrieked, the faster did his sorry
aggregation melt away. When it became evident that there would soon be
none left save himself and the sailors, he ceased his blustering, and
scuttled off toward Gloucester and the Rappahannock.

Bacon, Drummond, Lawrence and their men occupied the abandoned town, in
which some of them owned houses, and burned it to the ground. The act was
deliberate; the town records were first removed; and the men who had most
to lose by the conflagration were the first to set the torch.

Jamestown at that time contained hardly twenty buildings all told; but it
was the first settlement of the Dominion, and sentiment would fain have
preserved it. A mossy ruin, draped in vines, is all that remains of it
now. The ascertainable causes of its destruction seem inadequate; yet the
circumstances show that it could not have been done in mere wantonness.
Civilized warfare permits the destruction of the enemy's property; but the
enemy had retreated, and the expectation was that he would never return.
That Bacon had reasons, his previous record justifies us in believing; but
what they were is matter of conjecture. As it is, the burning of Jamestown
is the only passage in his brief and gallant career which can be construed
as a blemish upon it. Unfortunately, it was, also, all but the final one.

He pursued Berkeley, and the army of the latter, instead of fighting,
marched over to him with a unanimity which left the governor almost
without a companion in his chagrin. The whole of Virginia was now in
Bacon's hand; he had no foes; he was called Deliverer; he had never met
reverse; he was a man of intellect, judgment and honor, and he was in the
prime of his youth; in such a country, beloved, and supported by such a
people, what might he not have hoped to achieve? Men like him are rare; in
a country just emerging into political consciousness, he was doubly
precious. There was no one to take his place; the return of Berkeley meant
all that was imaginable of evil; and yet Bacon was to die, and Berkeley
was to return.

In the trenches before Jamestown, Bacon had contracted the seeds of a
fever which now, in the hour of his triumph, overcame him. After a short
struggle he succumbed; and his men, fearing, apparently, that the ghoulish
revenge of the old governor might subject his remains to insult, sunk his
body in the river; and none know where lie the bones of the first American
patriot who died in arms against oppression. His worth is proved by the
confusion and disorganization which ensued upon his death. Cheeseman,
Hansford, Wilford and Drummond could not make head against disaster. On
the governor's side, Robert Beverly developed the qualities of a leader,
and a series of small engagements left the patriots at his mercy. Berkeley
was re-established in his place; and then began the season of his revenge.

His victims were the gentlemen of Virginia; the flower of the province.
He had no mercy; his sole thought was to add insult to the bitterness of
death. He would not spare their lives; he would not shoot them; they must
perish on the gallows, not as soldiers, but as rebels. When a young wife
pleaded for her gallant husband, declaring that it was she who persuaded
him to join the patriotic movement, Berkeley denied her prayer with coarse
brutality. When Drummond was brought before him, he assured him of his
pleasure in their meeting: "You shall be hanged in half an hour." One can
see that mean, flushed countenance, ravaged by time and intemperance, with
bloodshot eyes, gloating over the despair of his foes, and searching for
means to torture their minds while destroying their bodies. Trial by jury
was not quick or sure enough for Berkeley; he condemned them by
court-martial and the noose was round their necks at once. Their families
were stripped of their property and sent adrift to subsist on charity. In
his bloodthirstiness, he never forgot his pecuniary advantage, and his
thievish fingers grasped all the valuables that his murderous instincts
brought within his power. But the spectacle is too revolting for
contemplation.

"He would have hanged half the country if we had let him alone," was the
remark of a member of the assembly. It was voted that the execution should
cease; more than two-score men had already been strangled for defending
their homes and resisting oppression. Even Charles in London was annoyed
when he heard of the wasteful malignity of "the old fool," and sent word
of his disapproval and displeasure. A successor was sent over to supersede
him; but he at first refused to go at the king's command, though he had
ever used the king's name as the warrant for his crimes. He had sold
powder and shot to the Indians to kill his own people with; he had
appropriated the substance of widows and orphans whom he had made such; he
had punished by public whipping all who were reported to have spoken
against him; he forbade the printing-press; but all had been done "for the
King". And now he resisted the authority of the king himself. But Charles,
for once, was determined, and Berkeley, under the disgrace of severe
reprimand, was forced to go. The joy bells clashed out the people's
delight as the ship which carried him dropped down the harbor, and the
firing of guns was like an anticipation of our celebration of Independence
Day. He stood on the poop, in the beauty of the morning, shaking out
curses from his trembling hands, in helpless hatred of the fair land and
gallant people that he had done his utmost to make miserable. In England,
the king would have none of him, and he met with nothing but rebuffs and
condemnation on all sides. The power which he had misused was forever
gone; he was old, and shattered in constitution; he was disgraced,
flouted, friendless and alone. He died soon after his arrival, of
mortification; he had lived only to do evil, and to withhold him from it
was to take his life away.

It is not the function of the historian to condemn. Berkeley was by birth
and training an aristocrat and a cavalier, and he was a creature of his
age and station. He had been taught to believe that the patrician is of
another flesh and blood than the plebeian; that authority can be enforced
only by tyranny; that the only right is that of birth, and of the
strongest. He was early placed in a position where every personal
indulgence was made easy to him, where there was none to call in question
his authority, and where there was temptation to assert authority by
oppression, and by arrogating absolute license to act as the whim
prompted, and to lay hands on whatever he coveted. Add to these conditions
a nature congenitally without generous instincts, a narrow brain, and a
sensual temperament, and we have gone far to account for the phenomenon
which Berkeley finally, in his approaching senility, presented. He was the
type of the worst traits that caused England ultimately to forfeit
America; the concentration of whatever is opposite to popular liberties.
His deeds must be execrated; but we cannot put him beyond the pale of
human nature, or deny that under different circumstances he would have
been a better man. We may admit, too, that, in the wisdom of Providence,
he was placed where, by doing so much mischief, he was involuntarily the
cause of more good than he could ever willingly have accomplished. He
taught the people how to hate despotism, and how to struggle against it.
He wrought a mutual understanding and sympathy between the upper and lower
orders; he led them to define to their own minds what things are
indispensable to the existence of true democracy. These are some of the
uses which he, and such as he, in their own despite subserved. He and the
young Bacon were mortal foes; but he, by opposing Bacon, and murdering his
friends, aided the cause for which they laid down their lives.

After his departure there ensued a period of ten years or more, during
which the pressure upon Virginia seemed rather to grow heavier than to
lighten. The acts of Bacon's assembly were repealed; all the former abuses
were restored; the public purse was shamelessly robbed; the suffrage was
restricted; the church was restored to power. In 1677 the Dominion became
the property of one Culpepper, who had the title of governor for life; and
the restraints, such as they were, of its existence as a royal colony were
removed. But Culpepper's course was so corrupt as to necessitate his
removal, and in 1684 the king resumed his sway. James II. reached the
English throne the following year, and his persecutions of his enemies in
England gave good citizens to America. But the Virginians, who could be
wronged and oppressed, but never crushed, protested against the arbitrary
use of the king's prerogative; they were punished for their temerity, but
rose more determined from the struggle. No man could be sent to Virginia
who was strong enough to destroy its resolve for liberty.

And now the English Revolution was at hand; and we are to inquire what
influence the new dispensation was to have on the awakening national
spirit of the American colonies.



CHAPTER SEVENTH

QUAKER, YANKEE, AND KING


The American principle, simple in that its perfection is human liberty,
is of complex make. It is the sum of the ways in which a man may
legitimately be free. But neither Pilgrims, Puritans, New Amsterdamers,
Virginians, Carolinians nor Marylanders were free in all ways. Even the
Providence people had their limitations. It is not meant, merely, that the
old world still kept a grip on them: their several systems were
intrinsically incomplete. Some of them put religious liberty in the first
place; others, political; but each had its inconsistency, or its
shortcoming. None had gone quite to the root of the matter. What was that
root?--or, let us say, the mother lode, of which these were efferent veins?

The Pilgrims and Puritans, heretics in Episcopalian England, had escaped
from their persecution, but had banished heretics in their turn. Tranquil
Lord Baltimore having laid the burden of his doubts at the foot of God's
vicegerent on earth, had sought no further, and was indifferent as to what
other poor mortals might choose to think they thought about the unknown
things. Roger Williams' charity, based on the dogma of free conscience,
drew the line only at atheists. The other colonists, since their salient
contention was on the lower ground of civil emancipation and
self-direction, are not presently considered.

But, to the assembly of religious radicals, there enters a plain Man in
Leather Breeches, and sees fetters on the limbs of all of them. "Does thee
call it freedom, Friend Winthrop," says he, "to fear contact with such as
believe otherwise than thee does? Can truth fear aught? And fear, is it
not bondage? As for thee, George Calvert, thee has delivered up thine
immortal soul into the keeping of a man no different from what thee
thyself is, so to escape the anxious seat; but the dead also are free of
anxiety, and thy bondage is most like unto death. Thee calls thy colony
folk free, because thee lets them believe what they list; but they do but
follow what their fathers taught them, who got it from theirs; which is to
be in bondage to the past. And here is friend Roger, who makes private
conscience free; but what is private conscience but the private reasonings
whereby a man convinceth himself? and how shall he call his conviction the
truth, since all truth is one, but the testimony of no man's private
conscience is the same as another's? Nay, how does thee know that the
atheist, whom thee excludes, is further from the truth than thee thyself
is? Truly, I hear the clanking of the chains on ye all; but if ye will
accept the Inner Light, then indeed shall ye know what freedom is!"

This Man in Leather Breeches, who also wears his hat in the king's
presence, is otherwise known as George Fox, the Leicestershire weaver's
son, the Quaker. In his youth he was much troubled in spirit concerning
mankind, their nature and destiny, and the purpose of God concerning them.
He wandered in lonely places, and fasted, and was afflicted; he sought
help and light from all, but there was none could enlighten him. But at
last light came to him, even out of the bosom of his own darkness; and he
saw that human learning is but vanity, since within a man's self, will he
but look for it, abides a great Inner Light, which changeth not, and is
the same in all; being, indeed, the presence of the Spirit of God in His
creature, a constant guide and revelation, withheld from none, uniting and
equalizing all; for what, in comparison with God, are the distinctions of
rank and wealth, or of learning?--Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His
righteousness, and these things shall be added unto you. In the lowest of
men, not less than in such as are called greatest, burns this lamp of
Divine Truth, and it shall shine for the hind as brightly as for the
prince. In its rays, the trappings of royalty are rags, jewels are dust
and ashes, the lore of science, folly; the disputes of philosophers, the
crackling of thorns under the pot. By the Inner Light alone can men be
free and equal, true sons of God, heirs of a liberty which can never be
taken away, since bars confine not the spirit, nor do tortures or death of
the body afflict it. So said George Fox and his followers; and their lives
bore witness to their words.

The Society of Friends took its rise not from a discovery--for Fox
himself held the Demon of Socrates, and similar traditional phenomena, to
be identical with the Inner Light, or voice of the Spirit--but rather in
the recognition of the universality of something which had heretofore been
regarded as exceptional and extraordinary. In the Seventeenth Century
there was a general revolt of the oppressed against oppression, declaring
itself in all phases of the outer and inner life; of these, there must
needs be one interior to all the rest, and Quakerism seems to have been
it. It was a revolution within revolutions; it saw in the man's own self
the only tyrant who could really enslave him; and by bringing him into the
direct presence of God, it showed him the way to the only real
emancipation. Historically, it was the vital element in all other
emancipating movements; it was their logical antecedent: the hidden spring
feeding all their rivers with the water of life. It enables us to analyze
them and gauge their values; it is their measure and plummet. And this,
not because it is the final or the highest word justifying the ways of God
to man--for it has not proved to be so: but because it indicated, once for
all, in what direction the real solution of the riddle of man was to be
sought: a riddle never to be fully solved, but forever approximately
guessed. Quakerism has not maintained its relative position in religious
thought; but it was the finest perception of its day, and in the turmoil
of the time it fulfilled its purpose. Probably its best effect was the
development it gave to the humbler element of society--to the yeomen and
laborers; affording them the needed justification for the various demands
for recognition that they were urging. Puritanism banished Quakers, and
even hanged them; but the Quaker was the Puritan's spiritual father,
although he knew it not. And therefore the Quaker, who was among the last
to appear in America as a settler in virgin soil, had a right thereto
prior to any one of the others. There must be a soul before there can be a
body.

On the other hand, a soul without a body is not adapted to life in this
world; and an America peopled exclusively by Quakers would have been
unsatisfactory. It is a prevailing tendency of man, having hit upon a
truth, to begin to theorize upon it, and, as the phrase is, run it into
the ground. Quakers would not fight, would not take an oath, would not
baptize, or wear mourning, or flatter the senses with pictures and
statues. A Quaker would resist evil and violence only by enlightening
them. He would not be taxed for measures or objects which he did not
approve. He could see but one way of reforming the world, and thought that
God was equally circumscribed in His methods. But though the leaven may
make bread wholesome, we cannot subsist on leaven alone. The essence of
Americanism may be in a Quaker, but he is far from being a complete
American, and therefore he was fain to take his place only as a noble
ingredient in that wonderful mixture. By degrees, the singularities which
distinguished him were softened; his thee and thy yielded to the common
forms of speech; his drab suit altered its cut and hue; his hat came off
occasionally; his women abated the rigor of their poke bonnets; he was
able to say to the enemy of his country, "Friend, thee is standing just
where I am going to shoot." The disintegration of his individuality set
free the good that was in him to permeate surrounding society; his fellow
flowers in the garden were more beautiful and fragrant for his sake.

When persecution of Quakers was at its worst, they became almost
dehumanized, attaching more value to their willingness to endure ill-usage
than to the spiritual principle for avouching which they were ill-used.
Many persons--such is the oddity of human nature--were drawn to the sect
for love of the persecution; and gave way to extravagances such as Fox
would have been the first to denounce. But when toleration began, these
excesses ceased, and they bethought themselves to make a home in the
wilderness of their own. There was room enough. George Fox returned from
his pilgrimage to the Atlantic colonies in 1674, with good accounts of the
resources of the new country; and the owner of New Jersey sold half of it
to John Fenwick for a thousand pounds; and the next year the latter went
there with many Friends, and picked out a pleasant spot on the east bank
of the Delaware for the first settlement, to which he gave the name of
Salem. It was at this juncture that William Penn became, with two others,
assigns of the proprietor of the colony, and thus took the first step
toward assuming full responsibility for it. He did not, however,
personally visit America till seven years later.

Penn was the son of an English admiral: not the kind of timber,
therefore, out of which one would have supposed a great apostle of
non-resistance could be made. He was brought up to the use of ample
wealth, and his training and education were aristocratic. After leaving
Oxford, he made the grand tour, and came home a finished young man of the
world, with the pleasures and rewards of life before him. He had good
brains and solid qualities, and the old admiral had high hopes of him. No
doubt he would have made a very good figure in the English world of
fashion; but destiny had another career marked out for him.

The plain Man with the Leather Breeches got hold of him; and all the
objurgations, threats, and even the act of disinheritance of the admiral
were powerless to extricate him from that grasp. Penn had found something
which seemed to him more precious than rubies, and he was quite as
resolute as the old hero of the Navy. Penn could endure the beating and
the being turned into the streets, but he could not stop his ears and eyes
to the voice and light of God in his soul. He did not care to conquer
another Jamaica, but he passionately desired to minister to the spiritual
good of his fellow creatures. He was of a sociable and cheerful
disposition; he could disarm his adversary in a duel; he could take charge
of the family estates, and qualify himself for the law; the king was ready
to smile upon him; but all worldly ambitions died away in him when he
heard Thomas Lee testify of the faith that overcomes the world. Nothing
less than that would satisfy Penn. In 1666, when he was two and twenty, he
made acquaintance with the inside of a jail on account of his
conscientious perversities; but the only effect of the experience was to
make him perceive that he had thereby become "his own freeman." When he
got out, his friends cut him and society made game of him; finally, he was
lodged in the Tower, which, he informed Charles II., seemed to him "the
worst argument in the world." They let him out in less than a year, but in
less than a year more he was again arrested and put on trial. The jury,
after having been starved for two days and heartily cursed by the judge,
brought him in not guilty; upon which the judge, with a fine sense of
humor, fined them all heavily and sent him back to prison. But this was
too much for the admiral, who paid his fines and got him out; and, being
then on his death-bed, surrendered at discretion, restoring to him the
inheritance, and observing, not without a pensive satisfaction, that he
and his friends would end by "making an end of the priests."

A six months' term in Newgate was still in store for Penn; but after that
they gave up this method of reforming him. He spent the next years in
exhorting Parliament and reproving princes all over Europe; and in the
midst of these labors he met one of the best and most beautiful women in
England; she had suitors by the score, but she loved William Penn, and
they were married. She was the wife of his mind and soul as well as of his
bed and board. He was now doubly fortified against the world, and doubly
bound to his career of human benevolence. His studies and meditations had
made him a profound philosopher and an able statesman; and in all ways he
was prepared to begin the great work of his life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, the Quakers in the new world were building up the framework of
their state. They decreed to put the power in the people, and all the
articles of their constitution embody the utmost degree of freedom, with
constant opportunities for the electors to revise or renew their
judgments. When the agent of the Duke of York levied customs on ships
going to New Jersey, the act drew from the colonists a remarkable protest,
which was supported by the courts. They had planted in the wilderness,
they said, in order, among other things, to escape arbitrary taxation; if
they could not make their own laws in a land which they had bought, not
from the Duke, but from the natives, they had lost instead of gaining
liberty by leaving England. Taxes levied upon planting left them nothing
to call their own, and foreshadowed a despotic government in England, when
the Duke should come to the throne. The future James II. gave up his
claim, and in 1680 signed an indenture to that effect. Later, at the
advice of Penn, they so amended their constitution as to give them power
to elect their own governor. A charter was drawn up by Penn and confirmed
in 1681, and he became proprietor. No man ever assumed such a trust with
less of personal ambition or desire for gain than he. "You shall be
governed by laws of your own making," said he; "I shall not usurp the
right of any, or oppress his person." He had already made inroads on his
estate by fighting the cause of his brethren in England in the courts; but
when a speculator offered him six thousand pounds down and an annual
income for the monopoly of Indian trade, he declined it; the trade
belonged to his people. He was ardently desirous to benefit his colony by
putting in operation among them the schemes which his wisdom had evolved;
but he would not override their own wishes; they should be secured even
from his power to do them good; for, as liberty without obedience is
confusion, so is obedience without liberty slavery. Instead therefore of
imposing his designs upon them, he submitted them for their free
consideration. Pennsylvania now occupied its present boundaries, with the
addition of Delaware; and western New Jersey ceased to be the nominal home
of the Friends in America. In 1682, Penn embarked for the Delaware. He had
founded a free colony for all mankind, believing that God is in every
conscience; and he was now going to witness and superintend the working of
his "holy experiment."

On October 29th he was received at Newcastle by a crowd of mixed
nationality, and the Duke of York's agent formally delivered up the
province to him. The journey up the Delaware was continued in an open
boat, and the site of Philadelphia was reached in the first week of
November. There a meeting of delegates from the inhabitants was held and
the rules which were to govern them were reviewed and ratified. Among
these it was stipulated that every Christian sect was eligible to office,
that murder only was a capital crime, that marriage was a civil contract,
that convict prisons should be workhouses, that all who paid duties should
be electors, and that there should be no poor rates or tithes. Then Penn
proceeded to lay out the city of Philadelphia, where they "might improve
an innocent course of life on a virgin Elysian shore." It was here that
the Declaration of Independence was signed ninety-three years afterward.

In March, before the leaves had budded on the tall trees whose colonnades
were as yet the only habitation for the emigrants, the latter set to work
to settle their constitution. "Amend, alter or add as you please," was the
recommendation with which Penn submitted it to them--the work of his
ripest wisdom and loving good-will. To the governor and council it
assigned the suggestion of all laws; these suggestions were then to be
submitted by the assembly to the body of the people, who thus became the
direct law-makers. To Penn was given the power to negative the doings of
the council, he being responsible for all legislation; but he could
originate and enforce nothing. He would accept no revenues; and, indeed,
except in the way of helpfulness and counsel, never in any way imposed
himself upon his people. He was the proprietor; but in all practical
respects, Pennsylvania was a representative democracy. That they should be
free and happy was his sole desire.

In its relations with the Indians, the colony was singularly fortunate;
the doctrine of non-resistance succeeded best where least might have been
expected from it. All lands were purchased, conferences being held and
deeds signed; and the red men were given thoroughly to understand that
nothing but mutual good was intended. They took to the new idea kindly;
the law of retaliation had been the principle of their lives hitherto; but
if a man did good to them, and dealt honestly by them, should not they
retaliate by manifesting the same integrity and good-will? At one time it
was reported that a band of Indians had assembled on the border with the
design of avenging some grievance with a massacre. Six unarmed Quakers
started at once for the scene of trouble, and the Indians subsided. It has
long been admitted that it takes two sides to make a fight; but this was
an indication that it needs resistance to make a massacre. Penn, who was
fond of visiting the Indians in their wigwams, and sharing their
hospitality, formed an excellent opinion of them. He discoursed to them of
their rights as men, and of their privileges as immortal souls; and they
conceded to him his claim to peaceful possession of his province. Not less
remarkable was the fate of witchcraft in Pennsylvania. The Swedes and
Finns believed in witches, upon the authority of their native traditions;
and a woman of their race having acted in a violent and unaccountable
manner, they put her on her trial for witchcraft. Both Swedes and Quakers
composed the jury; there were no hysterics; the matter was dispassionately
canvassed; impressions and prejudices were not accepted as evidence; and
in the end the verdict was that though she was guilty of being called a
witch, a witch she nevertheless was not. The distinction was so well taken
that no more witch trials or panics occurred. This was in 1684, eight
years before the disasters in New England. But newspapers did not exist in
those days, and public opinion was undeveloped.

The colony, receiving a world-wide advertisement by dint of the
excellence of its institutions and the singularity of its principles,
became a magnet to draw to itself the "good and oppressed" of all Europe.
There were a good many of them; and within a couple of years from the time
when Philadelphia meant blaze-marks on trees and three or four cottages,
it had grown to be a real town of six hundred houses. The colony
altogether mustered eight thousand people. With justifiable confidence,
therefore, that all was well, and would stay so, Penn, with many loving
words for his people, returned to England to continue the defense of the
afflicted there. A dispute as to the right boundaries of Delaware and
Maryland was also to be determined; but it proved to be a lingering
negotiation, chiefly noteworthy on account of its leading to the fixing of
the line by Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, which afterward became the
recognized boundary between the States where slaves might be owned and
those where they might not. The line was surveyed, finally, in 1767.

Penn being gone, the people applied themselves to experimenting with
their constitution. A constitution which is devised to secure liberty to
the subject, including liberty to modify or change it, is as nearly
unchangeable as any mortal structure can be. The inhabitants of
Pennsylvania had never known before what it was to be free, and they
naturally wished to test the new gift or quality in every way open to
them. Not having the trained brain and unselfish wisdom that belonged to
Penn, of which the constitution was the offspring, they thought that they
could improve its provisions. But the more earnestly they labored to this
end, the more surely were they brought to the confession that he had known
how to make them free better than they themselves did. When they resolved
against taxes, they found themselves without revenue; when they refused to
discipline a debtor, they found that credit was no longer to be had. They
fussed and fretted to their hearts' content, and no great harm came of it,
because the constitution was always awaiting them with forgiveness when
they had tired themselves with abusing it. The only important matter that
came to judgment was the slavery question; Penn himself had slaves, though
he came to doubt the righteousness of the practice, and liberated them in
his will--or would have done so, had the injunction been carried out by
his heirs. Slaves in Pennsylvania were to serve as such for fourteen
years, and then become adscripts of the soil--that is to say, they were
permitted to become the same thing under another name. Penn ultimately
conceived the ambition to vindicate the presence of the Inner Light in the
negroes' souls; but he met with small success--even less than with the
Indians. The problem of the negro was not to be solved in that way, or at
that time. No doubt, if a negro slave could be made to feel that the mere
circumstance of external bondage was nothing, so long as his inner man was
untrammeled, it would add greatly to the convenience both of himself and
his master. But the theory did not seem to carry weight so long as the
practice accompanied it; and the world, even of Pennsylvania, was not
quite ready to abolish negro slavery in 1687.

Of the thirteen colonies, twelve had now had their beginning, and
Georgia, the home of poor debtors, shed little or no fresh light upon the
formation of the American principle. The Revolution of 1688, which put
William of Orange on the English throne, was now at hand; but before
examining its effect upon the American settlements we must cast a glance
at the transactions of the previous dozen years in the New England
division.

The theory of the English government regarding the American colonies had
always been, that they were her property. The people who emigrated had
been English subjects, and--to adapt the Latin proverb--Coelum, non Regem,
mutant, qui trans mare currunt. Moreover, the English, as was the custom
of the age, asserted jurisdiction over all land first seen and claimed by
mariners flying their flag; and though Spain and France might claim
America with quite as much right as England, yet the latter would not
acknowledge their pretensions. A country, then, occupied by English
subjects, and owned by England, could not reasonably assert its private
independence.

Such was England's position, from which she never fully receded until
compelled to do so by force of arms. But the colonists looked at the
matter from a different point of view. They held the right of ownership by
discovery to be unsubstantial; it was a mere sentiment--a matter of
national pride and prestige--not to be valued when it came in conflict
with the natural right conveyed by actual emigration and settlement. The
man who transferred himself, with his family and property, to a virgin
country. Intending to make his permanent home there, should not be subject
to arbitrary interference from any one; his vital interests and welfare
were involved; he should be ruled by authority appointed by himself;
should pay only such taxes as he himself levied for the expenses of his
establishment; and should enjoy the profits of whatever products he raised
and whatever commerce he carried on. He had withdrawn himself from
participation in the advantages of home civilization, and had voluntarily
faced a life of struggle and peril in the wilderness, precisely because he
had counted these things as nothing in comparison with the gain of
controlling his own affairs; but if, nevertheless, the mother country
insisted on managing them, or in any way controlling him, then all
enterprise became vain, all his sacrifices had been fruitless, and he was
in all ways worse off than before he took steps to better himself. An
Englishman living in England might rightly be taxed for the protection to
life and property and the enjoyment of privileges which she afforded him,
and which he, through a representative parliament, created; but England
gave no protection to her colonies, and the colonists were not represented
in her parliament; neither had the English government been put to any
expense or trouble in bringing those colonies into existence; to tax them,
therefore, was an act of despotism; it deprived them of the right which
all Englishmen possessed to the fruits of their own labor; it robbed them
of values for which no equivalent had been yielded; and thus, from
freemen, made them slaves. Not less unjustifiable, for the same reasons,
was interference with colonial governments, and with religious liberties
of all kinds.

England could not categorically refute these arguments; but she could
reply that her granting of a charter to the colonies had implied some hold
upon them, including a first lien upon commercial products; while so far
as governmental jurisdiction was concerned, it might be considered an open
question whether the colonies were capable of adequately governing
themselves, and she was therefore warranted, in the interests of order, in
exercising that function herself. But the reply was a weak one; and when
the colonists rejoined that the charter, if it had any practical
significance at all, merely gave expression to a friendly interest in the
adventure, as a parent might give a son a letter hoping that he would do
well; and that the question of government was not an open one, inasmuch as
the orderliness and efficiency of their institutions were visible and
undeniable:--it was left to England only to say that, once an English
subject, always an English subject, and that when she commanded the
colonies must comply.

As a matter of fact, she avoided as much as possible putting this
ultimatum in precise words; and the colonies were at least as reluctant to
oppose a definite defiance. Diplomacy labors long before acknowledging a
finality. There was on both sides a deeply-rooted determination to
prevail; but an open rupture was shunned. Furthermore, a strong sentiment
of loyalty existed in the colonies, which sentimentally and sometimes
practically injured the logic of their attitude. They acknowledged the
English king to be theirs; they addressed him in deferential and
submissive terms; they wished, in some sense, to keep hold of their
mother's hand, and yet they protested against the maternal prerogative.
Their status was anomalous; and it is easy to say that they should have
declared their purpose, from the first, to be an independent nation in the
full sense of the world. But the logical and the natural are often at
variance. Liberty is not necessarily attainable only through political
independence. The colonists, if they wished to be another England in
miniature, had not contemplated becoming a people foreign to England, in
the sense that France or Spain was. They loved the English flag, in spite
of the cross which Endicott disowned; they were proud of the English
history which was also theirs. Why should they sever themselves from
these? It was not until English injustice and selfishness, long endured,
became at last unendurable, that the resolve to live truly independent, or
to die, fired the muskets of Lexington and Concord.

The most galling of the measures which weighed upon New England was that
called the Navigation Acts. These were passed in the interests of the
English trading class, and by their influence. In their original form, in
1661, they had involved no serious injury to the colonies, and had,
moreover, been so slackly enforced that they were almost a dead letter.
But after Charles II. came to the throne, they assumed a more virulent
aspect. They forbade the importation into the colonies of any merchandise,
except in English bottoms, captained by Englishmen, thus excluding from
American ports every cargo not owned by British merchants. On the other
hand, they decreed that no American produce should find its way into other
than English hands, except such things as the English did not want, or
could buy to better advantage elsewhere; and even these could be disposed
of at no ports nearer England than the Mediterranean. Next, by an
extension of the Acts, the inhabitants of one colony were forbidden to
deal with those of another except on payment of duties intended to be
prohibitory. And finally, the colonists were enjoined not to manufacture
even for their private consumption, much less for export, any goods which
English manufacturers produced. They could do nothing but grow crops, and
the only reason that anything whatever was permitted to go from the
colonies to foreign ports, was in order that the former might thus get
money with which to pay for the forced importations from England. The
result of such a policy was, of course, that money was put into the
pockets of English shopkeepers, but all other Englishmen gained nothing,
and the colonists lost the amount of the shopkeepers' profit, as well as
the incidental and incalculable advantages of free enterprise.

[Illustration: A Quaker in the Stocks]

These laws pressed most severely on Massachusetts, because her shipping
exceeded that of all the other colonies, and the smuggling which their
geographical peculiarities made easy to them was impossible for her.
Besides, manufacturing was never followed by the southern colonies, and
their chief products, tobacco and cotton, not being grown elsewhere, could
be sold at almost as good a profit in England as anywhere else.

But if Massachusetts was the chief object of these oppressive measures,
she was also more inflexible than the other colonies in insisting upon her
rights. The motto of the Rattlesnake flag carried at the beginning of the
Revolution--"Don't tread on Me"--expressed the temper of her people from
an early period in her history. We shall shortly see how resolutely and
courageously she fought her battle against hopeless odds. Meanwhile, we
may inquire how and why the other colonies of the New England
confederation fared better at the hands of the mother country.

One of the most agreeable figures in our colonial history is the son of
that John Winthrop who brought the first colonists to Massachusetts Bay,
on June 22, 1630. He had been born at Groton, in England, in 1606, and was
therefore fifty-six years old when he returned to that country as agent
for Connecticut, and obtained its charter from Charles. He had been
educated at Dublin, and before emigrating to the colonies had been a
soldier in the French wars, and had traveled, on the Continent. After
landing at Boston, he had helped his father in his duties, and had then
founded the town of Ipswich in Massachusetts. None was more ardent than he
in the work of preparing a home for the exiles in the wilderness; he added
his own fortune to that of his father, and thought no effort too great. In
him the elements were so kindly mixed that his heart was as warm and his
mind as liberal as his energy was tireless; it was as if a Roger Williams
had been mingled with an elder Winthrop; enthusiasm and charity were
tempered with judgment and discretion. The love of creating means of
happiness for others was his ruling motive, and he was gifted with the
ability to carry it out; he felt that New England was his true home,
because there he had fullest opportunity for his self-appointed work. It
is almost an effort for men of this age to conceive of a nature so pure as
this, and a character so blameless; we search the records for some
weakness or deformity. But all witnesses testify of him with one voice;
and it may be borne in mind that the spirit of Puritanism at that epoch
was mighty in the individual as in the community, purging the soul of many
self-indulgent vices which the laxity and skepticism of our time
encourage; and when, in addition, there is a nation to be made on
principles so lofty as those which Puritanism contemplated, one can
imagine that there would be little space for the development of the lower
instincts, or the unworthier ambitions. When all is said, however,
Winthrop the Younger still remains a surprising and rare type; and it is
an added pleasure to know that in all that he undertook he was successful
(he never undertook anything for himself), and that he was most happy in a
loving wife and in his children. It was a rounded life, such as a romancer
hardly dares to draw; yet there may be many not less lovely, only less
conspicuously placed.

When there was need for a man to go to England and plead before the king
for Connecticut--of which, for fourteen consecutive years thereafter, he
was annually elected governor--who but Winthrop could be selected? He went
with all the prayers of the colony for his good fortune; and it was of
good omen that he met there, in the council for the colonies appointed by
the king, Edward Hyde, first Earl of Clarendon and Lord Chancellor, then
in the prime of his career, and two years younger than Winthrop; and
William Fiennes, Viscount Saye and Sele, who was in the eightieth and
final year of his useful and honorable career, and who, in 1632, had
obtained a patent for land on the Connecticut river. Through his influence
the interest of the Lord Chamberlain was secured, and Clarendon himself
was cordial for the charter. With such support, the way was easy, and the
document was executed in April of 1662. It gave the colonists all the
powers of an independent government. There was no reservation whatever;
their acts were not subject even to royal inspection. Nevertheless,
Charles, by effecting the amalgamation of New Haven with Hartford, not
altogether with the consent of the former, arbitrarily set aside the
provision of the federation compact which forbade union between any of its
members except with the consent of all; and thereby he asserted his
jurisdiction (if he chose to exercise it) over all the colonies. He could
give gracious gifts, but on the understanding that they were of grace, not
obligation. In the oppression of Massachusetts, this served as an
unfortunate precedent.

Nor must it be forgotten that the happiness of Connecticut was in part
due to the fact that, as a matter of high policy, it was desired to
conciliate her at Massachusetts's expense. Massachusetts was much the
strongest of the colonies; her tendency to disaffection was known in
England; and it seemed expedient to place her in a position isolated from
her sisters. Were all of them equally wronged, their union against the
oppressor was inevitable. Connecticut and Rhode Island could be of small
present value to England from the commercial standpoint, and their
heartfelt loyalty seemed cheaply purchased by suffering that value to
accumulate. Charles could be lavish and reckless, and he was
constitutionally "good-humored"--that is, he liked to have things go
smoothly, and if anybody suffered, wished the fact to be kept out of his
sight. But he was incapable of generosity, in the sense of voluntarily
sacrificing any selfish interest for a noble end; and if he patted
Connecticut on the back, it was only in order that she might view with
toleration his highway robbery of her sister.

All this, however, need not dash our satisfaction at the advantages which
Connecticut enjoyed, and the good they did her. The climate and physical
nature of the country required an active and wholesome life in the
inhabitants, while yet the conditions were not so severe as to discourage
them. They were of a rustic, hardy, industrious temper, of virtuous and
godly life, and animated by the consciousness of being well treated. They
lived and labored on their farms, and there were not so many of them that
the farms crowded upon one another, though the population increased
rapidly. Each of them delighted in the cultivation of his private
"conscience"; and, in the absence of wars and oppressions, they argued one
with another on points of theology, fate, freewill, foreknowledge
absolute. They were far from indifferent to learning, but they liked
nothing quite so well as manhood and integrity. The Connecticut Yankee
impressed his character on American history, and wherever in our country
there has been evidence of pluck, enterprise and native intelligence, it
has generally been found that a son of Connecticut was not far off. They
were not averse from journeying over the earth, and many of them had the
pioneer spirit, and left their place of birth to establish a miniature
Connecticut elsewhere; their descendants will be found as far west as
Oregon, and their whalers knew the paths of the Pacific as well as they
did the channels of Long Island Sound. Tolerant, sturdy, pious, shrewd,
prudent and brave, they formed the best known type of the characteristic
New Englander, as represented by the national figure of Uncle Sam. They
were sociable and inquisitive, yet they knew how to keep their own
counsel; and the latch-string hung out all over the colony, in testimony
at once of their honesty and their hospitality. Few things came to them
from the outer world, and few went out from them; they were industrially
as well as politically independent. They were economical in both their
private and their public habits; no money was to be made in politics,
partly because every one was from his youth up trained in political
procedure; every town was a republic in little. The town meeting was open
to all citizens, and each could have his say in it, and many an acute
suggestion and shrewd criticism came from humble lips. It is in such town
meetings that the legislators were trained who then, and ever since, have
become leading figures in the statesmanship of the country. In England, a
hereditary aristocracy were educated to govern the nation; in the
colonies, a nation was educated to govern itself. Our system was the
sounder and the safer of the two. But the professional politician was then
unthought of; he came as the result of several conditions incident to our
national development; he has perhaps already touched his apogee, and is
beginning to disappear. The nation has awakened to a realization that its
interests are not safe in his hands.

Calvinism prevailed in the colony, as in Massachusetts; but there were
many of the colonists who did not attend at the meeting-house on the
Sabbath, not because they were irreligious or vicious, but either because
they lived far from the rendezvous, or because they did not find it a
matter of private conscience with them to sit in a pew and listen to a
sermon. Moreover, it was the rule among Calvinists that no one could join
in the Communion service who had not "experienced religion"; and many
excellent persons might entertain conscientious doubts whether this
mysterious subjective phenomenon had taken place in them. Pending
enlightenment on that point, they would naturally prefer not to sit beside
their more favored brethren during the long period of prayer and
discourse, only to be obliged to walk out when the vital stage of the
proceedings was reached. But it was also the law that only children of
communicants should receive baptism; and since not to be baptized was in
the religious opinion of the day to court eternal destruction, it will
easily be understood that non-communicating parents were rendered very
uneasy. What could they do? One cannot get religion by an act of will; but
not to get it was to imperil not only their own spiritual welfare, but
that of their innocent offspring as well; they were damned to all
posterity. The matter came up before the general court of Connecticut, and
in 1657 a synod composed of ministers of that colony and of Massachusetts
--New Haven and Plymouth declining to participate--sat upon the question,
and softened the hard fate of the petitioners so far as to permit the
baptism of the children of unbaptized persons who engaged to rear them in
the fear of the Lord. This "half-way covenant," as it came to be termed,
did not suit the scruples of Calvinists of the stricter sort; but it gave
comfort to a great many deserving folk, and probably did harm to no human
soul, here or hereafter.

Short are the annals of a happy people; until the Revolutionary days
began, there is little to tell of Connecticut. The collegiate school which
half a generation later grew into the college taking its name from its
chief benefactor, Elihu Yale, had its early days in the village at the
mouth of the Connecticut river, named, after Lord Saye and Sele, Saybrook.
The institution of learning called after the pious and erudite son of the
English butcher of Southwark, founded on the banks of the river Charles
near Boston, had come into existence more than sixty years before; but
Yale followed less than forty years after the granting of the Connecticut
charter. New England people never lost any time about securing the means
of education.

The boundaries of Rhode Island were the occasion of some trouble; though
one might have supposed that since the area which they inclosed was so
small, no one would have been at the pains to dispute them. But in the
end, Roger Williams obtained the little he had asked for in this regard,
while as to liberties, his charter made his community at least as well off
as was Connecticut. Their aspiration to be allowed to prove that the best
civil results may be coincident with complete religious freedom, was
realized. Charles gave them everything; liberty for a people who thought
more of God than of their breakfasts, and whose habitation was too small
for its representation on the map to be seen without a magnifying glass,
could not be a dangerous gift. The charter was delivered in 1663 to John
Clarke, agent in England for the colony, and was taken to Rhode Island by
the admirable Baxter in November of that year. All the two thousand or
more inhabitants of the colony met together to receive the precious gift;
Baxter, placed on high, read it out to them with his best voice and
delivery, and then held it up so that all might behold the handsomely
engrossed parchment, and the sacred seal of his dread majesty King
Charles. What a picture of democratic and childlike simplicity! With how
devout and earnest an exultation did the people murmur their thanks and
applause! The crowd in their conical hats and dark cloaks, the chill
November sky, the gray ripples of Narragansett Bay, the background of
forest trees, of which only the oaks and walnuts still retained the red
and yellow remnants of their autumn splendor; the quaint little ship at
anchor, with its bearded crew agape along the rail; and Baxter the center
of all eyes, holding up the charter with a sort of holy enthusiasm! Such a
scene could be but once; and time has brought about his revenges. With
what demeanor would the throng at the fashionable watering place greet a
messenger from the English sovereign to-day! John Clarke, the Bedfordshire
doctor, to whose fidelity and persistent care the colony owed much, fully
participated in the contagion of goodness which marked the New England
emigrants of the period. He served his fellow colonists all his life, and
at his death left them all he had; and it seems strange that he should
have been one of the founders of aristocratic Newport, and its earliest
pastor. But it is not the only instance of the unexpected use to which we
sometimes put the bequests of our ancestors.

The early vicissitudes of Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont are hardly of
importance enough to warrant a detailed examination. Vermont was not
settled till well into the Eighteenth Century. Maine had been fingered by
the French, and used as a base of operations by fishermen, long before its
connection with Massachusetts; the persistency of Gorges complicated its
position for more than forty years. After his death, and in the
irresponsiveness of his heirs, the few inhabitants of the region were
constrained to shift for themselves; in 1652 the jurisdiction was found to
extend three miles north of the source of the Merrimack, and Massachusetts
offering its protection in enabling a government to be formed, and acting
upon the priority of its grant, annexed the whole specified region. But
more than twenty years afterward, in 1677, the English committee of the
privy council examined the charter, and found that Massachusetts had no
jurisdiction over Maine and New Hampshire (the separate existence of which
last had scarcely been defined). The direct object of this decision of the
committee was to provide the bastard son of Charles, Monmouth, with a
kingdom of his own; no one knew anything about the resources or
possibilities of the domain, and, omne ignotum pro magnifico, it was
surmised that it would yield abundant revenues. But Massachusetts did not
want the Duke for a neighbor; and while Charles was considering terms of
purchase, she bought up the Gorges claim for some twelve hundred pounds.
The Maine of that epoch was not, of course, the same as that of to-day;
the French claimed down to the Kennebec, and the Duke of York, not content
with New York, asserted his ownership from the Kennebec to the Penobscot;
so that for Massachusetts was left only what intervened between the
Kennebec and the Piscataqua. Being proprietor of this, she made it a
province with a governor and council whom she appointed, and a legislature
derived from the people; the province not relishing its subordination, but
being forced to submit. Two years later, in 1679, New Hampshire was cut
off from Massachusetts and made the first royal province of New England.
The people of the province were ill-disposed to surrender any of the
liberties which they saw their neighbors in the enjoyment of; and
disregarding the feelings of the king's appointee, its representatives
declared that only laws made by the assembly and approved by the people
should be valid. Robert Mason, who had a patent to part of the region,
finding himself opposed by the colonists, got permission from England to
appoint an adventurer, Edward Cranfield, governor; Cranfield went forth
with hopes of much plunder; but they would not admit his legitimacy, and
he took the unprecedented step of dissolving the assembly; the farmers
revolted, and their ringleader, Gove, was condemned for treason, and spent
four years in the Tower of London. It was another attempt to convince the
spirit of liberty by "the worst argument in the world"; but it was
ridiculous as well as bad in Gove's case; he was but a hard-fisted
uneducated countryman, whose belief that the patch of land he had cleared
and planted among the New England mountains was his, and not another's,
was not to be dissipated by dungeons. The disputed land-titles got into
the law courts, where judges and juries were fixed; but no matter which
way the decisions went, the people kept their own. Cranfield sent an
alarmist report of affairs to London, declaring that "factions" would
bring about a separation of the colony unless a frigate were sent to
Boston to enforce loyalty. Nothing was done. Cranfield tried to raise
money through the assembly by a tale about an invasion, which existed
nowhere save in his own imagination; the assembly refused to be stampeded.
The clergy were against him, and he attempted to overcome them by
restrictive orders; but they defied him; he imprisoned one of them, Moody;
and succeeded in disturbing church service; but the people would rather
not go to meeting than obey Cranfield. His last effort was to try to levy
taxes under pretense of an Indian war; but the people thwacked the tax
collectors with staves, and the women threatened them with hot water. A
call for troops to quell the disturbances was utterly disregarded. How was
a governor to govern people who refused to be governed?

Cranfield gave it up. He had been struggling three years, and had
accomplished nothing. He wrote home that he "should esteem it the greatest
happiness to be allowed to remove from these unreasonable people"; and
this happiness was accorded to him; it was the only happiness which his
appointment had afforded. New Hampshire was in bad odor with the English
government; but the farmers could endure that with equanimity. They had
demonstrated that the granite of their mountains had somehow got into
their own composition; and they were let alone for the present, the rather
since Massachusetts was enough to occupy the king's council at that time.

The fight between Massachusetts and Charles began with the latter's
accession in 1660, and continued till his death, when it was continued by
James II. The charter of the colony was adjudged to be forfeited in 1684,
twenty-four years after the struggle opened. While it was at its height,
the Indian war broke out to which the name of the Pokanoket chief, King
Philip, has been attached. Thus both the diplomacy and the arms of the
colony were tested to the utmost, at one and the same time; the American
soldiers were victorious, though at a serious cost of life and treasure;
the diplomatists were defeated; but Massachusetts had learned her strength
in both directions, and suffered less, in the end, by her defeat than by
her victory. The issue between England and her colony had become clearly
defined; the people learned by practice what they already knew in theory
--the hatefulness of despotism; and their resolve to throw it off when the
opportunity should arrive was not discouraged, but confirmed. From the
Indian war they gained less than a wise peace would have given them, and
they lost women and children as well as men. Such conflicts, once begun,
must be pushed to the extremity; but it cannot but be wished that the
people of Massachusetts might have found a means of living with the red
men, as their brethren in Pennsylvania did, in peace and amity. The
conduct of Indians in war can never be approved by the white race, but, on
the other hand, the provocations which set them on the warpath always can
be traced to some act of injustice, real or fancied, wanton or accidental,
on our part. King Philip was fighting for precisely the same object that
was actuating the colonists in their battle with King Charles. Doubtless
the rights of a few thousand savages are insignificant compared with the
higher principles of human liberty for which we contended; but Philip
could not be expected to acknowledge this, and we should extend to him
precisely the same sympathy that we feel for ourselves.

A great deal of pains had been taken to convert and civilize these New
England tribes. John Eliot translated the Bible for them; and it was he
who made the first attempt to determine the grammar of their speech. But
though many Indians professed the Christian faith, and some evinced a
certain aptitude in letters, no new life was awakened in any of them, and
no permanent good results were attained. Meanwhile, the Pokanokets, with
Philip at their head, refused to accept the white man's God, or his
learning; and they watched with anxiety his growing numbers and power.
They had sold mile after mile of land to the English, not realizing that
the aggregate of these transactions was literally taking the ground from
under their feet; but the purchasers had the future as well as the present
in view, and contrived so to distribute their holdings as gradually to
push the Indians into the necks of land whence the only outlet was the
sea. It was the old story of encroachment, with always a deed to justify
it, signed with the mark of the savage, good in law, but to his mind a
device to ensnare him to his hurt. In 1674, Philip was compelled to appear
before a court and be examined, whereat his indignation was aroused, and,
either with or without his privity, the informer who had procured his
arrest was murdered. The murderers were apprehended and sentenced to be
hanged by a jury, half white and half Indian. The tribe retaliated and war
was begun.

Philip, or Metaconet the son of Massasoit, may at this time have been
about forty years old; he had been "King" for twelve years. The portraits
of him show a face and head that one can hardly accept as veracious; an
enormous forehead impending over a small face, with an almost delicate
mouth. But he was obviously a man of ability, and his courage was hardened
by desperation. His aim was to unite all the tribes in an effort to
exterminate the entire English population, though this has been estimated
to number in New England, at that time, more than fifty thousand persons.
The odds were all upon the colonists' side; but they had not yet learned
the Indian method of warfare, and the woods, hills and swamps, and the
unprotected state of many of the settlements, gave the Indians
opportunities to prolong the struggle which they amply improved. Had they
been united, and adequately armed, the issue might have been different.

Captain Benjamin Church, a hardy pioneer of six and thirty, who had
watched the ways of the Indians, and learned their strategy, soon became
prominent in the war, and ended as its most conspicuous and triumphant
figure. At first the colonists were successful, and Philip was driven off;
but this did but enable him to spread the outbreak among other tribes.
From July of 1675 till August of the next year, the life of no one on the
borders was safe. The settlers went to the meeting-house armed, and turned
out at the first alarm. They were killed at their plowing; they were
ambuscaded and cut off, tortured, slain, and their dissevered bodies hung
upon the trees. At the brook thereafter called Bloody Run, near Deerfield,
over seventy young men were surprised and killed. Women and children were
not spared; it was hardly sparing them to carry them into captivity, as
was often done. The villages which were attacked were set on fire after
the tomahawking and scalping were done. Horrible struggles would take
place in the confined rooms of the little cabins; blood and mangled
corpses desecrated the familiar hearths, and throughout sounded the wild
yell of the savages, and the flames crackled and licked through the
crevices of the logs.

In December, Church commanded, or accompanied, the little army which
plowed through night and snow to attack the palisaded fort and village,
strongly situated on an island of high ground in the midst of a swamp, in
the township of New Kingston. The Narragansetts were surprised; the
soldiers burst their way through the palisades, and the red and the white
men met hand to hand in a desperate conflict. Then the tomahawk measured
itself against the sword, and before it faltered more than two hundred of
the New Englanders had been killed or wounded, and the village was on
fire. The pools of blood which the frost had congealed, bubbled in the
heat of the flames. None could escape; infants, old women, all must die.
It was as ghastly a fight as was ever fought. The victors remained in the
charred shambles till evening, resting and caring for their wounded; and
then, as the snow began to fall, went back to Wickford, carrying the
wounded with them. It is said that a thousand Indian warriors fell on that
day.

At Hadfield had occurred the striking episode of the congregation,
surprised at their little church, and about to be overcome, being rescued
by a mysterious gray champion, who appeared none knew whence, rallied
them, and led them to victory. It was believed to be Goffe, one of the men
who sentenced Charles I. to be beheaded, who had escaped to New England at
the time of the Restoration, and had dwelt in retirement there till the
peril of his fellow exiles called him forth. The war was full of harrowing
scenes and strange deliverances. Annie Brackett, a prisoner in an Indian
party, crossed Casco Bay in a birch-bark canoe with her husband and infant
and was rescued by a vessel which happened to enter the harbor at the
critical moment.

Church hunted the Indians with more than their own cunning and
persistency; and at last it was he who led the party which effected
Philip's death. The royal Indian was hemmed in in a swamp and finally
killed by a traitor from his own side. The savages could fight no more;
they had caused the death of six hundred men, had burned a dozen towns,
and compelled the expenditure of half a million dollars. Scattered alarms
and tragedies still occurred in the East, and along the borders; but the
war was over. In 1678 peace was signed. And then Massachusetts turned once
more to her deadlier enemy, King Charles.



CHAPTER EIGHTH

THE STUARTS AND THE CHARTER


The cutting off of Charles I.'s head was a deed which few persons in
Massachusetts would have advocated; Cromwell himself had remarked that it
was a choice between the king's head and his own. History has upon the
whole accepted the choice he made as salutary. Achilles, forgetting his
heel, deemed himself invulnerable, and his conduct became in consequence
intolerable; Charles, convinced that his anointed royalty was sacred, was
led on to commit such fantastic tricks before high heaven as made the
godly weep. Achilles was disillusioned by the arrow of Paris, and Charles
by the ax of Cromwell. Death is a wholesome argument at times.

But though a later age could recognize the high expediency of Charles's
taking off, it was too bold and novel to meet with general approbation at
the time, even from men who hated kingly rule. Prejudice has a longer root
than it itself believes. And the Puritans of New England, having been
removed from the immediate pressure of the king's eccentricities, were the
less likely to exult over his end. Many of them were shocked at it; more
regretted it; perhaps the majority accepted it with a sober equanimity.
They were not bloodthirsty, but they were stern.

Neither were they demonstrative; so that they took the Parliament and the
Protector calmly, if cordially, and did not use the opportunity of their
predominance to cast gibes upon their predecessor. So that, when the
Restoration was an established fact, they had little to retract. They
addressed Charles II. gravely, as one who by experience knew the hearts of
exiles, and told him that, as true men, they feared God and the king. They
entreated him to consider their sacrifices and worthy purposes, and to
confirm them in the enjoyment of their liberties. Of the execution, and of
the ensuing "confusions," they prudently forbore to speak. It was better
to say nothing than either to offend their consciences, or to utter what
Charles would dislike to hear. Their case, as they well knew, was critical
enough at best. Every foe of New England and of liberty would not fail to
whisper malice in the king's ear. They sent over an envoy to make the best
terms he could, and in particular to ask for the suspension of the
Navigation Acts. But the committee had small faith in the loyalty of the
colony, and even believed, or professed to do so, that it might invite the
aid of Catholic and barbarous Spain against its own blood: they judged of
others' profligacy by their own. The king, to gain time, sent over a
polite message, which meant nothing, or rather less; for the next news was
that the Acts were to be enforced.

Massachusetts thereupon proceeded to define her position. A committee
composed of her ablest men caused a paper to be published by the general
court affirming their right to do certain things which England, they knew,
would be indisposed to permit. In brief, they claimed religious and civil
independence, the latter in all but name, and left the king to be a
figurehead without perquisites or power. They followed this intrepid
statement by solemnly proclaiming Charles in Boston, and threw a sop to
Cerberus in the shape of a letter couched in conciliating terms, feigning
to believe that their attitude would win his approbation. Altogether, it
was a thrust under the fifth rib, with a bow and a smile on the recover.
Probably the thrust represented the will of the majority; the bow and
smile, the prudence of the timid sort. Simon Bradstreet and John Norton
were dispatched to London to receive the king's answer. They went in
January of 1662, and after waiting through the spring and summer, not
without courteous treatment, returned in the fall with Charles's reply,
which, after confirming the charter and pardoning political infidelities
under the Protectorate, went on to refuse all the special points which the
colony had urged.

Already at this stage of the contest it had become evident that the
question was less of conforming with any particular demand or command on
the king's part, than of admitting his right to exercise his will at all
in the premises. If the colony conceded his sovereignty, they could not
afterward draw the line at which its power was to cease. And yet they
could not venture to declare absolute independence, partly because, if it
came to a struggle in arms, they could not hope to prevail; and partly
because absolute independence was less desired than autonomy under the
English flag. England was as far from granting autonomy to Massachusetts
as independence, but was willing, if possible, to constrain her by fair
means rather than by foul. Meanwhile, the tongue of rumor fomented
discord. It was said in the colony that England designed the establishment
of the Episcopal Church in Massachusetts; whereupon the laws against
toleration of "heretics," which had been falling into disuse, were
stringently revived. In London the story went that the escaped regicides
had united the four chief colonies and were about to lead them in arms to
revolt. Clarendon, to relieve anxiety, sent a reassuring message to
Boston; but its good effect was spoiled by a report that commissioners
were coming to regulate their affairs. The patent of the colony was placed
in hiding, the trained bands were drilled, the defenses of the harbor were
looked to, and a fast day was named with the double purpose of asking the
favor of God, and of informing the colony as to what was in the wind.
Assuredly there must have been stout souls in Boston in those days. A few
thousand exiles were actually preparing to resist England!

The warning had not been groundless. The fleet which had been fitted out
to drive the Dutch governor, Peter Stuyvesant, from Manhattan, stopped at
Boston on its way; and we may imagine that its entrance into the harbor on
that July day was observed with keen interest by the great-grandfathers of
the men of Bunker Hill. It was not exactly known what the instructions of
the English officers required; but it was surmised that they meant
tyranny. The commission could not have come for nothing. They had no right
on New England soil. The fleet, for the present, proceeded on its way, and
Massachusetts voluntarily contributed a force of two hundred men; but they
were well aware that the trouble was only postponed; and depending on
their charter, which contained no provision for a royal commission, they
were determined to thwart its proceedings to the utmost of their power.
How far that might be, they would know when the time came. Anything was
better than surrender to the prerogative. When, in reply to Willoughby, a
royalist declared that prerogative is as necessary as the law, Major
William Hawthorne, who was afterward to distinguish himself against the
Indians, answered him, "Prerogative is not above law!" It was not, indeed.

Accordingly, while the fleet with its commissioners was overawing the New
Netherlanders, the Puritans of Boston Bay wrote and put forth a document
which well deserves reproduction, both for the terse dignity of the style,
which often recalls the compositions of Lord Verulam, and still more for
the courageous, courteous, and yet almost aggressive logic with which the
life principles of the Massachusetts colonists are laid down. It is a
remarkable State paper, and so vividly sincere that, as one reads, one can
see the traditional Puritan standing out from the words--the steeple
crowned hat, the severe brow, the steady eyes, the pointed beard, the dark
cloak and sad-hued garments. The paper is also singular in that it
remonstrates against a principle, without waiting for the provocation of
overt deeds. This excited the astonishment of Clarendon and others in
England; but their perplexity only showed that the men they criticised saw
further and straighter than they did. It was for principles, and against
them, that the Puritans always fought, since principles are the parents of
all acts and control them. The royal commission was, potentially, the sum
of all the wrongs from which New England suffered during the next hundred
years, and though it had as yet done nothing, it implied everything.

Whose hand it was that penned the document we know not; it was probably
the expression of the combined views of such men as Mather, Norton,
Hawthorne, Endicott and Bellingham; it may have been revised by Davenport,
at that time nearly threescore and ten years of age, the type of the
Calvinist minister of the period, austere, inflexible, high-minded,
faithful. Be that as it may, it certainly voiced the feeling of the
people, as the sequel demonstrated. It is dated October the Twenty-fifth,
1664, and is addressed to the king.

"DREAD SOVEREIGN:--The first undertakers of this Plantation did obtain a
Patent, wherein is granted full and absolute power of governing all the
people of this place, by men chosen from among themselves, and according
to such laws as they should see meet to establish. A royal donation, under
the Great Seal, is the greatest security that may be had in human affairs.
Under the encouragement and security of the Royal Charter this People did,
at their own charges, transport themselves, their wives and families, over
the ocean, purchase the land of the Natives, and plant this Colony, with
great labor, hazards, cost, and difficulties; for a long time wrestling
with the wants of a Wilderness and the burdens of a new Plantation; having
now also above thirty years enjoyed the privilege of Government within
themselves, as their undoubted right in the sight of God and Man. To be
governed by rulers of our own choosing and laws of our own, is the
fundamental privilege of our Patent.

"A Commission under the Great Seal, wherein four persons (one of them our
professed Enemy) are impowered to receive and determine all complaints and
appeals according to their discretion, subjects us to the arbitrary power
of Strangers, and will end in the subversion of us all.

"If these things go on, your Subjects will either be forced to seek new
dwellings, or sink under intolerable burdens. The vigor of all new
Endeavours will be enfeebled; the King himself will be a loser of the
wonted benefit by customs, exported and imported from hence to England,
and this hopeful Plantation will in the issue be ruined.

"If the aim should be to gratify some particular Gentlemen by Livings and
Revenues here, that will also fail, for the poverty of the People. If all
the charges of the whole Government by the year were put together, and
then doubled or trebled, it would not be counted for one of these
Gentlemen a considerable Accommodation. To a coalition in this course the
People will never come; and it will be hard to find another people that
will stand under any considerable burden in this Country, seeing it is not
a country where men can subsist without hard labor and great frugality.

"God knows our greatest Ambition is to live a quiet Life, in a corner of
the World. We came not into this Wilderness to seek great things to
ourselves; and if any come after us to seek them here, they will be
disappointed. We keep ourselves within our Line; a just dependence upon,
and subjection to, your Majesty, according to our Charter, it is far from
our Hearts to disacknowledge. We would gladly do anything in our power to
purchase the continuance of your favorable Aspect. But it is a great
Unhappiness to have no testimony of our loyalty offered but this, to yield
up our Liberties, which are far dearer to us than our Lives, and which we
have willingly ventured our Lives and passed through many Deaths, to
obtain.

"It was Job's excellency, when he sat as King among his People, that he
was a Father to the Poor. A poor People, destitute of outward Favor,
Wealth, and Power, now cry unto their lord the King. May your Majesty
regard their Cause, and maintain their Right; it will stand among the
marks of lasting Honor to after Generations."

Throughout these sentences sounds the masculine earnestness of men who
see that for which they have striven valiantly and holily in danger of
being treacherously ravished from them, and who are resolute to withstand
the ravisher to the last. It is no wonder that documents of this tone and
caliber amazed and alarmed the council in London, and made them ask one
another what manner of men these might be. It would have been well for
England had they given more attentive ear to their misgivings; but their
hearts, like Pharaoh's, were hardened, and they would not let the people
go--until the time was ripe, and the people went, and carried the spoils
with them.

The secret purpose of the commission was to pave the way for the gradual
subjection of the colony, and to begin by inducing them to let the
governor become a royal nominee, and to put the militia under the king's
orders. Of the four commissioners, Nicolls remained in New York, as we
have seen; the three others landed in Boston early in 1665. Their first
order was that every male inhabitant of Boston should assemble and listen
to the reading of the message from King Charles. These three gentlemen
--Maverick, Carr and Cartwright--were courtiers and men of fashion and
blood, and were accustomed to regard the king's wish as law, no matter
what might be on the other side; but it was now just thirty years since
the Puritans left England; they had endured much during that time, and had
tasted how sweet liberty was; and half of them were young Americans, born
on the soil, who knew what kings were by report only. Young and old,
speaking through the assembly, which was in complete accord with them,
informed the commissioners that they would not comply with their demand.
What were the commissioners, that they should venture to call a public
meeting in the town of a free people? The free people went about their
affairs, and left the three gentlemen from the Court to stare in one
another's scandalized faces.

They were the more scandalized, because their reception in Connecticut
and Rhode Island had been different. But different, also, had been the
errand on which they went there. Those two colonies were the king's pets,
and were to have liberty and all else they wanted; Connecticut they had
protected from the rapacity of Lord Hamilton, and Rhode Island had never
been other than loving and loyal to the king. They had, to be sure, been
politely bowed out by little Plymouth, the yeomen Independents, who still
preferred, if his majesty pleased, to conduct their own household affairs
in their own way. But to be positively and explicitly rebuffed to their
faces, yet glowing with the sunshine of the royal favor, was a new
experience; and Cartwright, when he caught his breath, exclaimed, "He that
will not attend to the request is a traitor!"

The Massachusetts assembly declined to accept the characterization. Since
the king's own patent expressly relieved them from his jurisdiction, it
was impossible that their refusal to meet three of his gentlemen-in-
waiting could rightly be construed as treason. The commissioners finally
wanted to know, yes or no, whether the colonists meant to question the
validity of the royal commission? But the assembly would not thus be
dislodged from the coign of vantage; they stuck to their patent, and
pointed out that nothing was therein said about a commission? So far as
they were concerned, the commission, as a commission, could have no
existence. They recognized nothing but three somewhat arrogant persons,
in huge wigs, long embroidered waistcoats under their velvet coats, and
plumes waving from their hats. They presented a glittering and haughty
aspect, to be sure, but they had no rights in Boston.

At length, on the twenty-third of May, matters came to a crisis. The
commissioners had given out that on that day they were going to hold a
court to try a case in which the colony was to defend an action against a
plaintiff. This, of course, would serve to indicate that the commissioners
had power--whether the assembly conceded it or not--to control the
internal economy of the settlement. Betimes in this morning, the rather
that it was a very pleasant one--the trees on the Common being dressed in
their first green leaves since last year, while a pleasant westerly breeze
sent the white clouds drifting seaward over the blue sky--a great crowd
began to make its way toward the court house, whose portals frowned upon
the narrow street, as if the stern spirit of justice that presided within
had cast a shadow beneath them. The doors were closed, and the massive
lock which secured them gleamed in the single ray of spring sunshine that
slanted along the facade of the edifice.

It was a somber looking throng, as was ever the case in Puritan Boston,
where the hats, cloaks and doublets of the people were made of dark,
coarse materials, not designed to flatter the lust of the eye. The visages
suited the garments, wearing a sedate or severe expression, whether the
cast of the features above the broad white collars were broad and ruddy,
or pale and hollow-cheeked. There was a touch of the fanatic in many of
these countenances, as of men to whom God was a living presence in all
their affairs and thoughts, who feared His displeasure more than the
king's, who believed that they were His chosen ones, and who knew that His
arm was mighty to defend. They were of kin to the men who stood so
stubbornly and smote so sore at Marston Moor and Naseby, and afterward had
not feared to drag the father of the present Charles to the block. Fiber
more unbending than theirs was never wrought into the substance of our
human nature; and oppression seemed but to harden it.

They conversed one with another in subdued tones, among which sounded
occasionally the lighter accents of women's voices; but they were not a
voluble race, and the forms of their speech still followed in great
measure the semi-scriptural idioms which had been so prevalent among
Cromwell's soldiers years before. They were undemonstrative; but this
very immobility conveyed an impression of power in reserve which was more
effective than noisy vehemence.

At length, from the extremity of the street, was heard the tramp of
horses' hoofs, and the commissioners, bravely attired, with cavalier
boots, and swords dangling at their sides, were seen riding forward,
followed by a little knot of officers. The crowd parted before them as
they came, not sullenly, perhaps, but certainly with no alacrity or
suppleness of deference. There was no love lost on either side; but
Cartwright, who wore the most arrogant front of the three, really feared
the Puritans more than either of his colleagues; and when, seven years
afterward, he was called before his majesty's council to tell what manner
of men they were, his account of them was so formidable that the council
gave up the consideration of the menacing message they had been about to
send, and instead agreed upon a letter of amnesty, as likely to succeed
better with a people of so "peevish and touchy" a humor.

The cavalcade drew up before the door, and the officials, dismounting,
ascended the steps. Finding it locked, Cartwright lifted the hilt of his
sword and dealt a blow upon the massive panel.

"Who shuts the door against his majesty's commissioners?" cried he
angrily. "Where is the rascal with the keys, I say!"

"I marvel what his majesty's commissioners should seek in the house of
Justice," said a voice in the crowd; "since it is known that, when they go
in by one door, she must needs go out by the other."

At this sally, the crowd smiled grimly, and the commissioners frowned and
bit their lips. Just then there was a movement in the throng, and a tall,
dignified man with a white beard and an aspect of grave authority was seen
pressing his way toward the court house door.

"Here is the worshipful Governor Bellingham himself," said one man to his
neighbor. "Now shall we see the upshot of this matter."

"And God save Massachusetts!" added the other, devoutly.

[Illustration: An Incident of King Philip's War]

The chief magistrate of the colony advanced into the little open space at
the foot of the steps, and saluted the commissioners with formal courtesy.
"I am sorry ye should be disappointed, sirs," said he; "but I must tell
you that it is the decision of the worshipful council that ye do not pass
these doors, or order any business of the court, in this commonwealth.
Provision is made by our laws for the proper conduct of all matters of
justice within our borders, and it is not permitted that any stranger
should interfere therewith."

"Truly, Mr. Bellingham," said Maverick, resting one hand on his sword,
and settling his plumed hat on his wig with the other, "you take a high
tone; but the king is the king, here as in England, and we bear his
commission. Massachusetts can frame no laws to override his pleasure; and
so we mean to teach you. I call upon all persons here present, under
penalty of indictment for treason, to aid us, his majesty's commissioners,
to open this court, or to break it open." His voice rang out angrily over
the crowd, but no one stirred in answer.

"You forget yourself, sir," said the governor, composedly. "We here are
loyal to the king, and too much his friends to believe that he would wrong
himself by controverting the charter which bears the broad seal affixed by
his own royal father. Your claim doth abuse him more than our refusal. But
since you will not hear comfortable words, I must summon one who will
speak more bluntly."

He turned, and made a signal with his hand. "Let the herald stand forth,"
said he; and at the word, a broad-shouldered, deep-chested personage, with
a trumpet in one hand and a pike in the other, stepped into the circle and
stood in the military attitude of attention.

"Hast thou the proclamation there in thy doublet, Simon?" demanded his
worship.

"Aye, verily, that have I," answered Simon, in a voice like a fog horn,
"and in my head and my heart, too!"

"Send it forth, then, and God's blessing go with it!" rejoined the chief
magistrate, forcibly, but with something like a smile stirring under his
beard.

Upon this Simon the herald filled his vast lungs with a mighty volume of
New England air, set the long brazen trumpet to his lips, and blew such a
blast that the led horses of the commissioners started and threw up their
heads, and the windows of the court house shook with the strident
vibration. Then, taking the paper on which the proclamation was written,
and holding it up before him, he proceeded to bellow forth its contents in
such stentorian wise that the commissioners might have heard it, had they
been on Boston wharf preparing to embark for England, instead of being
within three or four paces. That proclamation, indeed, was heard over the
length and breadth of New England, and even across the Atlantic in the
gilded chamber of the king of Britain. "These fellows," muttered his
majesty, with a vexed air, "have the hardihood to affirm that we have no
jurisdiction over them. What shall be done. Clarendon?" "I have ever
thought well of them," the chancellor said, rubbing his brow; "they are a
sturdy race, and it were not well to wantonly provoke them; yet it is
amazing that they should show themselves so forward, without so much as
charging the commissioners with the least matter of crimes or
exorbitances." Clarendon, indeed, was too lenient to suit the royal party,
and this was one of the causes leading up to his impeachment a year or two
later.

But the herald was not troubled, nor was his voice subdued, by thoughts
of either royalty or royal commissioners; though, as a matter of form, he
began with "In the name of King Charles," he coupled with it "by authority
of the Charter"; and went on to declare that the general court of
Massachusetts, in observance of their duty to God, to the king, and to
their constituents, could not suffer any one to abet his majesty's
honorable commissioners in their designs. There was no mistaking the
defiance, and neither the people nor the commissioners affected to do so.
The latter petulantly declared that "since you will misconceive our
endeavors, we shall not lose more of our labors upon you"; and they
departed to Maine, where they met with a less mortifying reception. The
people were much pleased, and made sport of the king's gentlemen, and at
their public meetings they were addressed in the same "seditious" vein by
magistrates and ministers. "The commission is but a trial of our courage:
the Lord will be with His people while they are with Him," said old Mr.
Davenport. Endicott, on the edge of the grave, was stanch as ever for the
popular liberties. Besides, "There hath been one revolution against the
king in England," it was remarked; "perchance there will be another ere
long; and this new war with the Netherlands may bring more changes than
some think for." On the other hand, resistance was stimulated by tales of
what the gold-laced freebooters of the court would do, if they were let
loose upon New England. Diplomacy, however, was combined with the bolder
counsels; there was hope in delays, and correspondence was carried on with
England to that end. Charles's expressed displeasure with their conduct
was met with such replies as "A just dependence upon and allegiance unto
your majesty, according to the charter, we have, and do profess and
practice, and have by our oaths of allegiance to your majesty confirmed;
but to be placed upon the sandy foundations of a blind obedience unto that
arbitrary, absolute, and unlimited power which these gentlemen would
impose upon us--who in their actings have carried it not as indifferent
persons toward us--this, as it is contrary to your majesty's gracious
expressions and the liberties of Englishmen, so we can see no reason to
submit thereto."

The commissioners were recalled; but Charles commanded Bellingham,
Hawthorne, and a few others to appear before him in London and answer for
the conduct of the colony. The general court met for prayer and debate;
Bradstreet thought they ought to comply; but Willoughby and others said,
No. A decision was finally handed down declining to obey the king's
mandate.

"We have already furnished our views in writing," the court held, "so
that the ablest persons among us could not declare our case more fully."

Under other circumstances this fresh defiance might have borne prompt and
serious consequences; but Louis XIV. conveniently selected the moment to
declare war on England; and Boston commended herself to the home
government by arming privateers to prey upon the Canadian commerce, and by
a timely gift of a cargo of masts for the English navy. Charles became so
much interested in the ladies of his court that he had less leisure for
the affairs of empire. Yet he still kept New England in mind; he believed
Massachusetts to be rich and powerful, and from time to time revolved
schemes for her reduction; and finally, when the colonists were exhausted
by the Indian war, the privy council came to the conclusion that, if they
were not to lose their hold upon the colony altogether, "this was the
conjuncture to do something effectual for the better regulation of that
government." They selected, as their agent, the best hated man who ever
set foot on Massachusetts soil--Edward Randolph. His mission was to
prepare the way for the revocation of its charter, and to undo all the
works of liberty and happiness which the labor and heroism of near fifty
years had achieved. He was also intrusted by Robert Mason with the
management of his New Hampshire claims. The second round in the battle
between king and people had begun.

Randolph was a remorseless, subtle, superserviceable villain, who lied to
the king, and robbed the colonists, and was active and indefatigable in
every form of rascality. During nine years he went to and fro between
London and Massachusetts, weaving a web of mischief that grew constantly
stronger and more restrictive, until at length the iniquitous object was
achieved. His first visit to Boston was in 1676; he stayed but a few
weeks, and accomplished nothing, but his stories about the wealth and
population of the colonies stimulated the greed of his employers. Envoys
were ordered to come to London, and this time they were sent, but with
powers so limited as to prevent any further result than the cession of the
jurisdiction of Massachusetts over Maine and New Hampshire--which, as we
have seen, was bought back the next year. The enforcement of the
Navigation Acts was for the moment postponed. The colonists would pay
duties to the king within the plantation if he would let them import
directly from the other countries of Europe. But Charles wished to
strengthen his grasp of colonial power, although, if possible, with the
assembly's consent. In 1678, the crown lawyers gave an opinion that the
colony's disregard of the Navigation Acts invalidated their charter.
Randolph was appointed customs collector in New England, and it was
determined to replace the laws of Massachusetts by such as were not
"repugnant to the laws of England." And the view was expressed that the
settlement should be made a royal colony. Manifestly, the precious
liberties of the Puritans were in deadly peril.

A synod of the churches and a meeting of the general court were held to
devise defense. To obviate a repeal of their laws, these were in a measure
remodeled so as to bring them nearer to what it was supposed the king
would require. Almost anything would be preferable to giving up the right
to legislate for themselves. It was first affirmed that English laws did
not operate in America, and that the Navigation Acts were despotic because
there was no colonial representation in the English parliament. And then,
to prove once more how far above all else they prized principle, they
passed a Navigation Act of their own, which met all the king's
stipulations. They would submit to the drain on their resources and the
hampering of their enterprise, but only if they themselves might inflict
them. Meanwhile, they cultivated to the utmost the policy of delay.
Randolph, came over with his patent as collector in 1679, but though the
patent was acknowledged, he was able to make no arrangements for
conducting the business. Orders were sent for the dispatch of agents to
London with unlimited powers; but Massachusetts would not do it.
Parliament would not abet the king in his despotic plans beyond a certain
point; but he was at length able to dissolve it, and follow what counsels
he pleased. His first act was to renew the demand for plenipotentiary
envoys, or else he would immediately take steps legally to evict and avoid
their charter.

Two agents, Dudley and Richards, were finally appointed to go to the king
and make the best terms possible. If he were willing to compound on a
pecuniary basis, which should spare the charter, let it be done, provided
the colony had the means for it; but, whatever happened, the charter
privileges of the commonwealth were not to be surrendered. The agents had
not, therefore, unlimited powers; and when Charles discovered this, he
directed them to obtain such powers, or a judicial process would be
adopted. This alternative was presented to Massachusetts in the winter of
1682, and the question whether or not to yield was made the subject of
general prayer, as well as of discussion. There seemed no possible hope in
resistance. Might it not then be wiser to yield? They might thus secure
more lenient treatment. If they held out to the bitter end, the penalty
would surely be heavier. The question ultimately came up before the
general court for decision.

It is probable that no other representative body in the world would have
adopted the course taken by that of Massachusetts. Certainly since old
Roman times, we might seek in vain for a verdict which so disregarded
expediency--everything in the shape of what would now be termed "practical
politics"--and based itself firmly and unequivocally on the sternest
grounds of conscience and right. It was passed after thorough debate, and
with clear prevision of what the result must be; but the magistrates had
determined that to suffer murder was better than to commit suicide; and
this is the manner in which they set forth their belief.

"Ought the government of Massachusetts to submit to the pleasure of the
court as to alteration of their charter? Submission would be an offense
against the majesty of heaven; the religion of the people of New England
and the court's pleasure cannot consist together. By submission
Massachusetts will gain nothing. The court design an essential alteration,
destructive to the vitals of the charter. The corporations in England that
have made an entire resignation have no advantage over those that have
stood a suit in law; but, if we maintain a suit, though we should be
condemned, we may bring the matter to chancery or to parliament, and in
time recover all again. We ought not to act contrary to that way in which
God hath owned our worthy predecessors, who in 1638, when there was a quo
warranto against the charter, durst not submit. In 1664, they did not
submit to the commissioners. We, their successors, should walk in their
steps, and so trust in the God of our fathers that we shall see His
salvation. Submission would gratify our adversaries and grieve our
friends. Our enemies know it will sound ill in the world for them to take
away the liberties of a poor people of God in the wilderness. A
resignation will bring slavery upon us sooner than otherwise it would be;
and it will grieve our friends in other colonies, whose eyes are now upon
New England, expecting that the people there will not, through fear, give
a pernicious example unto others.

"Blind obedience to the pleasure of the court cannot be without great
sin, and incurring the high displeasure of the King of kings. Submission
would be contrary unto that which hath been the unanimous advice of the
ministers, given after a solemn day of prayer. The ministers of God in New
England have more of the spirit of John the Baptist in them, than now,
when a storm hath overtaken them, to be reeds shaken with the wind. The
priests were to be the first that set their foot in the waters, and there
to stand till all danger be past. Of all men, they should be an example to
the Lord's people of faith, courage, and constancy. Unquestionably, if the
blessed Cotton, Hooker, Davenport, Mather, Shepherd, Mitchell, were now
living, they would, as is evident from their printed books, say, Do not
sin in giving away the inheritance of your fathers.

"Nor ought we to submit without the consent of the body of the people.
But the freemen and church members throughout New England will never
consent hereunto. Therefore, the government may not do it.

"The civil liberties of New England are part of the inheritance of their
fathers; and shall we give that inheritance away? Is it objected that we
shall be exposed to great sufferings? Better suffer than sin. It is better
to trust the God of our fathers than to put confidence in princes. If we
suffer because we dare not comply with the wills of men against the will
of God, we suffer in a good cause, and shall be accounted martyrs in the
next generation, and at the Great Day."

The promulgation of this paper was the prelude to much calamity in New
England for many years; but how well it has justified itself! Such words
are a living power, surviving the lapse of many generations, and flaming
up fresh and vigorous above the decay of centuries. The patriotism which
they express is of more avail than the victories of armies and of navies,
for these may be won in an ill cause; but the dauntless utterances of men
who would rather perish than fail to keep faith with God and with their
forefathers is a victory for mankind, and is everlasting. How poor and
vain in comparison with this stern and sincere eloquence seem the supple
time-service and euphemism of vulgar politicians of whose cunning and
fruitless spiderwebs the latter years have been so prolific. It is worth
while to do right from high motives, and to care for no gain that is not
gained worthily. The men of Massachusetts who lived a hundred years before
Jefferson were Americans of a type as lofty as any that have lived since;
the work that was given them to do was so done that time can take away
nothing from it, nor add anything. The soul of liberty is in it. It is
easy to "believe in" our country now, when it extends from ocean to ocean,
and is the home of seventy-five million human beings who lead the world in
intelligence, wealth, and the sources of power. But our country two
hundred years ago was a strip of sea-coast with Indians on one side and
tyrants on the other, inhabited by a handful of exiles, who owned little
but their faith in God and their love for the freedom of man. No lesser
men than they could have believed in their country then; and they
vindicated their belief by resisting to the last the mighty and despotic
power of England.

On November 30, 1683, the decision was made known: "The deputies consent
not, but adhere to their former bills." A year afterward the English
court, obstinate in the face of all remonstrances, adjudged the royal
charter of Massachusetts to be forfeited. It had been in existence all but
half a century. It was no more; but it had done its work. It had made
Massachusetts. The people were there--the men, the women and the children
--who would hand on the tradition of faith and honor through the hundred
years of darkness and tribulation till the evil spell was broken by the
guns of Bunker Hill. Royal governors might come and go; but the people
were growing day by day, and though governors and governments are things
of an hour, the people are immortal, and the time of their emancipation
will come. By means of the charter, the seed of liberty was sown in
favorable soil; it must lie hid awhile; but it would gather in obscurity
and seeming death the elements of new and more ample life, and the genius
of endless expansion, Great men and nations come to their strength through
great trials, so that they may remember, and not lightly surrender what
was so hardly won.

The king's privy council, now that Massachusetts lay naked and helpless
before them, debated whether she should be ruled by English laws, or
whether the king should appoint governors and councils over her, who
should have license to work their wills upon her irresponsibly, except in
so far as the king's private instructions might direct them. A minority,
represented by Lord Halifax, who carried a wise head on young shoulders,
advised the former plan; but the majority preferred to flatter Charles's
manifest predilection, and said--not to seem embarrassingly explicit--that
in their opinion the best way to govern a colony on the other side of an
ocean three thousand miles broad, was to govern it--as the king thought
best!

So now, after so prolonged and annoying a delay, the royal libertine had
his Puritan victim gagged and bound, and could proceed to enjoy her at his
leisure. But it so fell out that the judgment against the charter was
received in Boston on the second of July, 1685, whereas Charles II. died
in London on February 6th of the same year; so that he did not get his
reward after all: not, at least, the kind of reward he was looking for.
But, so far as Massachusetts was concerned, it made little difference;
since James II. was as much the foe of liberty as was his predecessor, and
had none of his animal amiability. The last act of the Massachusetts
assembly under the old order was the appointing of a day of fasting and
prayer, to beseech the Lord to have mercy upon his people.

The reign of James II. was a black season for the northern American
colonies; we can say no better of it than that it did not equal the bloody
horrors which were perpetrated in Scotland between 1680 and 1687.
Massacres did not take place in Massachusetts; but otherwise, tyranny did
its perfect work. The most conspicuous and infamous figures of the time
are Sir Edmund Andros and Edward Randolph.

Andros, born in 1637, was thirty-seven years of age when he came to the
colonies as governor of New York on behalf of the Duke of York. He was a
lawyer, and a man of energy and ability; and his career was on the whole
successful, from the point of view of his employers and himself; his
tenure of office in New York was eight years; he was governor of New
England from 1686 to 1689, when he was seized and thrown in jail by the
people, on the outbreak of the Revolution in England; and he afterward
governed Virginia for seven years (1692-1698), which finished his colonial
career. But from 1704 to 1706 the island of Jersey, in the English
Channel, was intrusted to his rule; and he died in London, where he was
born, in 1714, being then seventy-seven years old, not one day of which
long life, so far as records inform us, was marked by any act or thought
on his part which was reconcilable with generosity, humanity or honor. He
was a tyrant and the instrument of tyranny, hating human freedom for its
own sake, greedy to handle unrighteous spoils, mocking the sufferings he
wrought, triumphing in the injustice he perpetrated; foul in his private
life as he was wicked in his public career. A far more intelligent man
than Berkeley, of Virginia, he can, therefore, plead less excuse than he
for the evil and misery of which he was the immediate cause. But no
earthly punishment overtook him; for kings find such men useful, and God
gives power to kings in this world, that mankind may learn the evil which
is in itself, and gain courage and nobility at last to cast it out, and
trample it under foot.

James II. was that most dangerous kind of despot--a stupid, cold man;
even his libertinism, as it was without shame, so was it without passion.
In his public acts he plodded sluggishly from detail to detail, with eyes
turned downward, never comprehending the larger scope and relations of
things. He was incapable of perceiving the vileness, cruelty, or folly of
what he did; the almost incredible murders in Scotland never for a moment
disturbed his clammy self-complacency. Perhaps no baser or more squalid
soul ever wore a crown; yet no doubt ever crept into his mind that he was
God's chosen and anointed. His pale eyes, staring dully from his pale
face, saw in the royal prerogative the only visible witness of God's will
in the domain of England; the atmosphere of him was corruption and death.
But from 1685 to 1688 this man was absolute master of England and her
colonies; and the disease which he bred in English vitals was hardly cured
even by the sharp medicine of the Boyne.

By the time Andros came to New England, he had learned his business. The
year after his appointment to New York, he attempted to assert his
sovereignty up to the Connecticut River; but he was opposed by deputy
governor Leet, a chip of the old roundhead block, who disowned the patent
of Andros and practically kicked him out of the colony. Connecticut paid
for her temerity when the owner of Andros became king. In the meanwhile he
returned to New York, where he was not wanted, but was tolerated; the
settlers there were a comfortable people, and prosperous in the homely and
simple style natural to them: they demanded civil rights in good, clear
terms, and cannot be said to have been unduly oppressed at this time. New
York for awhile included the Delaware settlements, and Andros claimed both
east and west Jersey. The claim was contested by Carteret and by the
Quakers. When the Jersey commerce began to be valuable, Andros demanded
tribute from the ships, and shook the Duke's patent in the people's faces.
They replied, rather feebly, with talk of Magna Charta. In 1682, the
western part came by purchase into Quaker ownership, and, three years
afterward, the eastern part followed by patent from the Duke. To trace the
vicissitudes of this region to their end, it was surrendered to England in
1702, and united to New York; and in 1788, in compliance with the desire
of the inhabitants, it became its own master. The settlers were of
composite stock: Quakers, Puritans, and others; and at the time of the
Scotch persecutions, large numbers of fugitive Covenanters established
themselves on the eastern slopes. The principle on which land was
distributed, in comparatively small parcels, made the Jerseys a favorite
colony for honest and industrious persons of small means; and, upon the
whole, life went well and pleasantly with them.

At the time of the return of Andros to England, in 1682, the assembly
decreed free trade, and Dongan, the new Roman Catholic governor, permitted
them to enact a liberal charter. In the midst of the happiness consequent
upon this, the Duke became king and lost no time in breaking every
contract that he had, in his unanointed state, entered into. Taxes
arbitrarily levied, titles vacated in order to obtain renewal fees, and
all the familiar machinery of official robbery were put in operation. But
Dongan, a kindly Kildare Irishman--he was afterward Earl of Limerick
--would not make oppression bitter; and the New Yorkers were not so
punctilious about abstract principles as were the New England men.
Favorable treaties were made with the Indians; and the despot's heel was
not shod with iron, nor was it stamped down too hard. The Dongan charter,
as it was called, remained in the colony's possession for over forty
years. The rule of Dongan himself continued till 1688.

Andros, after an absence from the colonies of five years, during which
time a native but unworthy New Englander, Joseph Dudley, had acted as
president, came back to his prey with freshened appetite in 1686. He was
royal governor of all New England. Randolph, an active subordinate under
Dudley, had already destroyed the freedom of the press. Andros's power was
practically absolute; he was to sustain his authority by force, elect his
own creatures to office, make such laws as pleased him, and introduce
episcopacy. He forbade any one to leave the colony without leave from
himself; he seized a meeting house and made it into an Episcopal church,
in spite of the protests of the Puritans, and the bell was rung for
high-church service in spite of the recalcitrant Needham. Duties were
increased; a tax of a penny in the pound and a poll tax of twenty pence
were levied; and those who refused payment were told that they had no
privilege, except "not to be sold as slaves." Magna Charta was no
protection against the abolition of the right of Habeas Corpus: "Do not
think the laws of England follow you to the ends of the earth!" Juries
were packed, and Dudley, to avoid all mistakes, told them what verdicts to
render. Randolph issued new grants for properties, and extorted grievous
fees, declaring all deeds under the charter void, and those from Indians,
or "from Adam," worthless. West, the secretary, increased probate duties
twenty-fold. When Danforth complained that the condition of the colonists
was little short of slavery, and Increase Mather added that no man could
call anything his own, they got for answer that "it is not for his
majesty's interest that you should thrive." In the history of
Massachusetts, there is no darker day than this.

The great New England romancer, writing of this period a hundred and
seventy years later, draws a vivid and memorable picture of the people and
their oppressors. "The roll of the drum," he says, "had been approaching
through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with reverberations from house
to house, and the regular tramp of martial footsteps, it burst into the
street. A double rank of soldiers made their appearance, occupying the
whole breadth of the passage, with shouldered matchlocks, and matches
burning, so as to present a row of fires in the dusk. Their steady march
was like the progress of a machine, that would roll irresistibly over
everything in its way. Next, moving slowly, with a confused clatter of
hoofs on the pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the central
figure being Sir Edmund Andros, elderly, but erect and soldier-like. Those
around him were his favorite councilors, and the bitterest foes of New
England. At his right rode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, that 'blasted
wretch,' as Mather calls him, who achieved the downfall of our ancient
government, and was followed with a sensible curse, through life and to
his grave. On the other side was Bullivant, scattering jests and mockery
as he rode along. Dudley came behind, with a downcast look, dreading, as
well he might, to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who beheld him,
their only countryman by birth, among the oppressors of his native land.
The captain of a frigate in the harbor, and two or three civil officers
under the Crown, were also there. But the figure that most attracted the
public eye, and stirred up the deepest feeling, was the Episcopal
clergyman of King's Chapel, riding haughtily among the magistrates in his
priestly vestments, the fitting representative of prelacy and persecution,
the union of church and state, and all those abominations which had driven
the Puritans to the wilderness. Another guard of soldiers, in double rank,
brought up the rear. The whole scene was a picture of the condition of New
England, and its moral, the deformity of any government that does not grow
out of the nature of things and the character of the people. On one side
the religious multitude, with their sad visages and dark attire, and, on
the other, the group of despotic rulers, with the high churchman in the
midst, and here and there a crucifix at their bosoms, all magnificently
clad, flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority, and scoffing at the
universal groan. And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word to
deluge the street with blood, showed the only means by which obedience
could be secured."

Education was temporarily paralyzed, and the right of franchise was
rendered nugatory by the order that oaths must be taken with the hand on
the Bible--a "popish" ceremony which the Puritans would not undergo. The
town meetings, which were the essence of New Englandism, were forbidden
except for the election of local officers, and ballot voting was stopped:
"There is no such thing as a town in the whole country," Andros declared.
Verily, it was "a time when New England groaned under the actual pressure
of heavier wrongs than those threatened ones which brought on the
Revolution." Yet the spirit of the people was not crushed; their leaders
did not desert them; in private meetings they kept their faith and hope
alive; the ministers told them that "God would yet be exalted among the
heathen"; and one at least among them, Willard, significantly bade them
take note that they "had not yet resisted unto blood, warring against sin!"

Boston was Andros's headquarters, and in 1688 was made the capital of the
whole region along the coast from the French possessions in the north to
Maryland in the south. But Andros had not yet received the submission of
Rhode Island and Connecticut. Walter Clarke was the governor of the former
colony in 1687, when, in the dead of winter, Andros appeared there and
ordered the charter to be given up. Roger Williams had died three years
before. Clarke tried to temporize, and asked that the surrender be
postponed till a fitter season. But Andros dissolved the government
summarily, and broke its seal; and it is not on record that the Rhode
Islanders offered any visible resistance to the outrage. From Rhode Island
Andros, with his retinue and soldiers, proceeded to Hartford, which had
lost its Winthrop longer ago than the former its Williams. Governor Dongan
of New York had warned Connecticut of what was to come, and had counseled
them to submit. Three writs of quo warranto were issued, one upon another,
and the colony finally petitioned the king to be permitted to retain its
liberties; but in any case to be merged rather in Massachusetts than in
New York. It was on the last day of October, 1687; Andros entered the
assembly hall, where the assembly was then in session, with Governor Treat
presiding. The scene which followed has entered into the domain of legend;
but there is nothing miraculous in it; a deed which depended for its
success upon the secrecy with which it was accomplished would naturally be
lacking in documentary confirmation. Upon Andros's entrance, hungry for
the charter, Treat opposed him, and entered upon a defense of the right of
the colony to retain the ancient and honorable document, hallowed as it
was by associations which endeared it to its possessors, aside from its
political value. Andros, of course, would not yield; the only thing that
such men ever yield to is superior force; but force being on his side, he
entertained no thought of departing from his purpose. The dispute was
maintained until so late in the afternoon that candles must be lighted;
some were fixed in sconces round the walls, and there were others on the
table, where also lay the charter, with its engrossed text, and its broad
seal. The assemblymen, as the debate seemed to approach its climax, left
their seats and crowded round the table, where stood on one side the royal
governor, in his scarlet coat laced with gold, his heavy but
sharp-featured countenance flushed with irritation, one hand on the hilt
of his sword, the other stretched out toward the coveted document:--on the
other, the governor chosen by the people, in plain black, with a plain
white collar turned down over his doublet, his eyes dark with emotion, his
voice vibrating hoarsely as he pleaded with the licensed highwayman of
England. Around, is the ring of strong visages, rustic but brainy,
frowning, agitated, eager, angry; and the flame of the candles flickering
in their heavily-drawn breath.

Suddenly and simultaneously, by a preconcerted signal, the lights are
out, and the black darkness has swallowed up the scene. In the momentary
silence of astonishment, Andros feels himself violently shoved aside; the
hand with which he would draw his sword is in an iron grasp, as heavy as
that which he has laid upon colonial freedom. There is a surging of unseen
men about him, the shuffling of feet, vague outcries: he knows not what is
to come: death, perhaps. Is Sir Edmund afraid? We have no information as
to the physical courage of the man, further than that in 1675 he had been
frightened into submission by the farmers and fishermen at Fort Saybrook.
But he need not have been a coward to feel the blood rush to his heart
during those few blind moments. Men of such lives as his are always ready
to suspect assassination.

But assassination is not an American method of righting wrong. Anon the
steel had struck the flint, and the spark had caught the tinder, and one
after another the candles were alight once more. All stared at one
another: what had happened? Andros, his face mottled with pallor, was
pulling himself together, and striving to resume the arrogant insolence of
his customary bearing. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a husky
murmur replaces the harsh stridency of his usual utterance. "What devilish
foolery is this--" But ere he can get further, some bucolic statesman
brings his massive palm down on the table with a bang that makes the oaken
plank crack, and thunders out--"The charter! Where's our charter?"

Where, indeed? That is one of those historic secrets which will probably
never be decided one way or the other. "There is no contemporary record of
this event." No: but, somehow or other, one hears of Yankee Captain Joe
Wadsworth, with the imaginative audacity and promptness of resource of his
race, snatching the parchment from the table in the midst of the groping
panic, and slipping out through the crowd: he has passed the door and is
inhaling with grateful lungs the fresh coolness of the cloudy October
night. Has any one seen him go? Did any one know what he did?--None who
will reveal it. He is astride his mare, and they are off toward the old
farm, where his boyhood was spent, and where stands the great hollow oak
which, thirty years ago, Captain Joe used to canvass for woodpeckers'
nests and squirrel hordes. He had thought, in those boyish days, what a
good hiding-place the old tree would make; and the thought had flashed
back into his mind while he listened to that fight for the charter to-day.
It did not take him long to lay his plot, and to agree with his few
fellow-conspirators. Sir Edmund can snatch the government, and scrawl
Finis at the foot of the Connecticut records; but that charter he shall
never have, nor shall any man again behold it, until years have passed
away, and Andros has vanished forever from New England.

Meanwhile, he returned to Boston, there, for a season, to make "the
wicked walk on every side, and the vilest to be exalted." Then came that
famous April day of 1689; and, following, event after event, one storming
upon another's heels, as the people rose from their long bondage, and
hurled their oppressors down. The bearer of the news that William of
Orange had landed in England, was imprisoned, but it was too late. Andros
ordered his soldiers under arms; but the commander of the frigate had been
taken prisoner by the Boston ship-carpenters; the sheriff was arrested;
hundreds of determined men surrounded the regimental headquarters; the
major resisted in vain; the colors and drums were theirs; a vast throng at
the town house greeted the venerable Bradstreet; the insurrection was
proclaimed, and Andros and his wretched followers, flying to the frigate,
were seized and cast into prison. "Down with Andros and Randolph!" was the
cry; and "The old charter once more!" It was a hundred years to a day
before that shot fired at Concord and heard round the world.



CHAPTER NINTH

THE NEW LEAF, AND THE BLOT ON IT


Popular liberty is one thing; political independence is another. The
latter cannot be securely and lastingly established until the former has
fitted the nation to use it intelligently. When the component individuals
have thrown off the bondage of superstition and of formulas, their next
step must be, as an organization, to abrogate external subordination to
others, and, like a son come of age, to begin life on a basis and with an
aim of their own.

But such movements are organic, and chronologically slow; so that we do
not comprehend them until historical perspective shows them to us in their
mass and tendency. They are thus protected against their enemies, who, if
they knew the significance of the helpless seed, would destroy it before
it could become the invincible and abounding tree. Great human revolutions
make themselves felt, at first, as a trifling and unreasonable annoyance:
a crumpling in the roseleaf bed of the orthodox and usual. They are
brushed petulantly aside and the sleeper composes himself to rest once
more. But inasmuch as there was vital truth as the predisposing cause of
the annoyance it cannot thus be disposed of; it spreads and multiplies.
Had its opponents understood its meaning, they would have humored it into
inoffensiveness; but the means they adopt to extirpate it are the sure way
to develop it. Truth can no more be smothered by intolerance, than a sown
field can be rendered unproductive by covering it with manure.

When Christ came, the common people had no recognized existence except as
a common basis on which aristocratic institutions might rest. That they
could have rights was as little conceived as that inanimate sticks and
stones could have them; to enfranchise them--to surrender to them the
reins of government--such an idea the veriest madness would have started
from. Philosophy was blind to it; religion was abhorrent to it; the common
people themselves were as far from entertaining it as cattle in the fields
are to-day. Christ's sayings--Love one another--Do as ye would be done by
--struck at the root of all arbitrary power, and furnished the clew to all
possible emancipations; but their infinite meaning has even yet been
grasped but partially. A thousand years are but as yesterday in the
counsels of the Lord. The early Christians were indeed a democracy; but
they were common people to begin with, and the law of love suggested to
them no thought of altering their condition in that respect. The only
liberty they dreamed of claiming was liberty to die for their faith; and
that was accorded to them in full measure. Indeed, an apprenticeship, the
years of which were centuries, must be served before they could be
qualified to realize even that they could become the trustees of power.

Their simple priesthood, beginning by sheltering them from physical
violence, ended by subjecting them to a yet more enslaving spiritual
tyranny. Philosophers could frame imaginative theories of human liberty;
but the people could be helped only from within themselves. Wiclif, giving
them the Bible in a living language, and intimating that force was not
necessarily right, began their education; and Luther, in his dogma of
justification by faith alone, forged a tremendous weapon in their behalf.
Beggars could have faith; princes and prelates might lack it; of what
avail was it to gain the whole world if the soul must be lost at last? The
reasonings and discussions to which his dogma gave rise called into
existence two world-covering armies to fight for and against it. Peace has
not been declared between them yet; but there has long ceased to be any
question as to who shall have the victory.

When the battle began, however, the other side had the stronger
battalions, and there would have been little chance for liberty, but for
the timely revelation of the western continent. And, inevitably, it was
the people who went, and the aristocrats who stayed behind; because the
new idea favored the former and menaced the latter. Inevitably, too, it
was the man who had the future in him that was the exile, and the man of
the past who drove him forth. And whenever we find a man of the
aristocratic order emigrating to the colonies, we find in him the same
love of liberty which animates his plebeian companion, graced by a motive
even higher, because opposed to his inherited interests and advantages.
Thus the refuge of the oppressed became by the nature of things the
citadel of the purest and soundest civilization.

Luther, Calvin, and Jonathan Edwards were in the line of succession one
from the other; each defined the truth more nearly than his predecessor,
but left it still in the rough. The whole truth is never revealed at one
time, but so much only as may forge a sword for the immediate combat.
Faith alone was a good blade for the first downright strokes of the
battle; predestination had a finer edge; and Edwards's dialectical
subtleties on the freedom of the will sharpen logic to so fine a point
that we begin to perceive that not logic but love is the true weapon of
the Christian: the mystery of God is not revealed in syllogisms. But each
fresh discrimination was useful in its place and time, and had to exist in
order to prepare the way for its successor. The Puritans would have been
less stubborn without their background of spiritual damnation. That awful
conscience of theirs would have faltered without its lake of fire and
brimstone to keep out of; and if it had faltered, the American nation
would have been strangled in its cradle.

America, then, having no permanent attractions as a residence for any of
the upper classes of European society, became the home of the common
people, in whom alone the doctrine of liberty could find a safe anchorage,
because in them alone did the need for it abide. The philosophy, the
religion, the tolerance, the civil forms, which are broad enough to suit
the common people, must be nearly as broad as truth itself, and therefore
as unconquerable. But the broader they appear, the more must they be
offensive to the orthodox and conventional, who by the instinct of
self-preservation will be impelled to attack them. There was never a more
obvious chain of cause and effect than that which is revealed in the
history of the United States; and having shown the conditions which led to
the planting in the wilderness of the elements which constitute our
present commonwealth, we shall now proceed to trace the manner in which
they came to be wrought into a united whole. They were as yet mainly
unconscious of one another; the opportunity for mutual knowledge had not
yet been presented, nor had the causes conducive to crystallization been
introduced. Oppression had awakened the colonists to the value of their
religious and civic principles; something more than oppression was
requisite to mold them into independent and homogeneous form. This was
afforded, during the next eighty years, by their increase in numbers,
wealth, familiarity with their country, and in the facilities for
intercommunication; and also, coincidently, by the French and Indian wars,
which apprised them of their strength, trained them in arms, created the
comradeship which arises from common dangers and aims, and developed vast
tracts of land which had otherwise been unknown. A country which has been
fought for, on whose soil blood has been shed, becomes dear to its
inhabitants; and the heroism of the Revolution gathered heart and
perseverance from the traditions and the graves of the soldiers of the
Intercolonial wars.

The English Revolution benefited the colonies, though to a less extent
than might have been expected. William of Orange was the logical
consequence, by reaction, of James II. The latter had so corrupted and
confused the kingdom, that William, whose connection with England arose
from his marriage with Mary, James's daughter, was invited to usurp the
throne by Tories, Whigs and Presbyterians--each party from a motive of its
own. The people were not appealed to, but they acquiesced. The Roman
Catholics were discriminated against, and the nonconformists were not
requited for their services; but out of many minor injustices and wrongs,
a condition better than anything which had preceded it was soon
discernible. The principle was established that royal power was not
absolute, nor self-continuing; it could be created only by the
representatives of the people, who could take it away again if its trustee
were guilty of breach of contract. The dynastic theory was disallowed;
kings were to come by election, not succession. The nobility were
recognized as the medium between the king and the people, but not before
they had conceded to the commons the right to elect a king for life; and
presently there came into existence a new power--that of the commercial
classes, the moneyed interest, which, in return for loans to government,
received political consideration. Ownership of land ceased to be the sole
condition on which a candidate could appeal to the electors; and merchants
were raised to a position where they could control national policies.
Merchants might not be wiser or less selfish than the aristocracy; but at
all events they were of the people, and the more widely power is diffused,
the less likely is any class to be oppressed. It was no longer possible
for freemen to be ruled otherwise than by governments of their own making,
and subject to their approval. Freedom of the press, which means liberty
to criticise all state and social procedure, was established, and public
opinion, instead of being crushed, was consulted. The aristocracy could
retain its ascendency only by permitting more weight to the middle class,
whose influence was therefore bound gradually to increase. Popular
legislatures were the final arbiters; and the advantages which the English
had obtained would naturally be imparted to the colonies, which, in
addition, were unhampered by the relics of decaying systems which still
impeded the old country.

[Illustration: Arresting a Woman Charged with Witchcraft]

William cared little for England, nor were the English in love with him;
but he was the most far-seeing statesman of his day, and his effect was
liberalizing and beneficial. He kept Louis XIV. from working the mischief
that he desired, and prevented the disturbance of political equilibrium
which was threatened by the proposed successor to the extinct Hapsburg
dynasty on the Spanish throne. William was outwardly cold and dry, but
there was fire within him, if you would apply friction enough. He was
under no illusions; he perfectly understood why he was wanted in England;
and for his part, he accepted the throne in order to be able to check
Louis in his designs upon the liberties of Holland. In defending his
countrymen he defended all others in Europe, whose freedom was endangered.

But if William's designs were large, they were also, and partly for that
reason, unjust in particulars. He was at war with France; France held
possessions in America; and it was necessary to carry on war against her
there as well as in Europe. The colonists, then, should be made to assist
in the operations; they must furnish men, forts, and, to some extent at
least, supplies. It was easy to reach this determination, but difficult to
enforce it under the circumstances. The various colonies lacked the
homogeneity which was desirable to secure co-operative action from them;
some of them were royal provinces, some proprietary, some were in an
anomalous state, or practically without any recognizable form of
government whatever. Each had its separate interests to regard, and could
not be brought to perceive that what was the concern of one must in the
end be the concern of all. But the greatest difficulty was to secure
obedience of orders after they had been promulgated; the colonial
legislatures pleaded all manner of rights and privileges, under Magna
Charta and other charters; they claimed the privileges of Englishmen, and
they stood upon their "natural" rights as discoverers and inhabitants of a
new country. They were spread over a vast extent of territory, so that in
many cases a journey of weeks would be required, through pathless forests,
across unbridged rivers, over difficult mountains, by swamps and morasses
--in order to carry information of the commands of the government to no
more than a score or a hundred of persons. And then these persons would
look around at the miles of unconquerable nature stretching out on every
side; and they would reflect upon the thousands of leagues of salt water
that parted them from the king who was the source of these unwelcome
orders; and, finally, they would glance at the travel-stained and weary
envoy with a pitying smile, and offer him food and drink and a bed--but
not obedience. The colonists had imagination, when they cared to exercise
it; but not imagination of the kind to bring vividly home to them the
waving of a royal scepter across the broad Atlantic.

Another cause of embarrassment to the king was the reluctance of
Parliament to pass laws inhibiting the reasonable liberties of the
colonies. The influence of the Lords somewhat preponderated, because they
controlled many of the elections to the Commons; but neither branch was
disposed to increase the power of the king, and they were, besides, split
by internal factions. It was not until the mercantile interest got into
the saddle that Parliament saw the expediency of restricting the
productive and commercial freedom of the colonies, and the necessity, in
order to secure these ends, of diminishing their legislative license.
Meanwhile, William tried more than one device of his own. First, by dint
of the prerogative, he ordered that each colony north of Carolina should
appoint a fixed quota of men and money for the defense of New York against
the common enemy; this order it was found impossible to carry out. Next,
he caused a board of trade to be appointed in 1696 to inquire into the
condition of the colonies, and as to what should be done about them; and
after a year, this board reported that in their opinion what was wanted
was a captain-general to exercise a sort of military dictatorship over all
the North American provinces. But the ministry held this plan to be
imprudent, and it fell through. At the same time, William Penn worked out
a scheme truly statesmanlike, proposing an annual congress of two
delegates from each province to devise ways and means, which they could
more intelligently do than could any council or board in England. The plan
was advocated by Charles Davenant, a writer on political economy, who
observed that the stronger the colonies became, the more profitable to
England would they be; only despotism could drive them to rebellion; and
innovations in their charters would be prejudicial to the king's power.
But this also was rejected; and finally the conduct of necessary measures
was given to "royal instructions," that is, to the king; but to the king
subject to the usual parliamentary restraint. And none of the better class
of Englishmen wished to tyrannize over their fellow Englishmen across the
sea.

Under this arrangement, the appointment of judges was taken from the
people; Habeas Corpus was refused, or permitted as a favor; censorship of
the press was revived; license to preach except as granted by a bishop was
denied; charters were withheld from dissenters; slavery was encouraged;
and the colonies not as yet under royal control were told that the common
weal demanded that they should be placed in the same condition of
dependency as those who were. But William died in 1702, before this
arrangement could be carried out. Queen Anne, however, listened to
alarmist reports of the unruly and disaffected condition of the colonies,
and allowed a bill for their "better regulation" to be introduced. It was
now that the mercantile interest began to show its power.

The old argument, that every nation may claim the services of its own
subjects, wherever they are, was revived; and that England ought to be the
sole buyer and seller of American trade. All the oppressive and irritating
commercial regulations were put in force, and all colonial laws opposing
them were abrogated. Complaints under these regulations were taken out of
the hands of colonial judges and juries, on the plea that they were often
the offenders. Woolen manufactures, as interfering with English industry,
were so rigorously forbidden, that a sailor in an American port could not
buy himself a flannel shirt, and the Virginians were put to it to clothe
themselves at all. Naturally, the people resisted so far as they could,
and that was not a little; England could not spare a sufficient force to
insure obedience to laws of such a kind. "We have a right to the same
liberties as Englishmen," was the burden of all remonstrances, and it was
supported by councilors on the bench and ministers in the pulpit. The
revenues were so small as hardly to repay the cost of management. It is
hard to coerce a nation and get a profit over expenses; and the colonies
were a nation--they numbered nearly three hundred thousand in Anne's reign
--without the advantage of being coherent; they were a baker's dozen of
disputatious and recalcitrant incoherencies. The only arbitrary measure of
taxation that was amiably accepted was the post-office tax, which was seen
to be productive of a useful service at a reasonable cost; and an act to
secure suitable trees for masts for the navy was tolerated because there
were so many trees. The coinage system was no system at all, and led to
much confusion and loss; and the severe laws against piracy, which had
grown to be common, and in the profits of which persons high in the
community were often suspected and sometimes proved to have been
participants, were less effective than they certainly ought to have been;
but they, and the bloody and desperate objects of them, added a
picturesque page to the annals of the time.

Concerning the condition of the several colonies during the years
following the Revolution of 1688, it may be said, in general, that it was
much better in fact than it was in theory. There were narrow and unjust
and short-sighted laws and regulations, and there were men of a
corresponding stamp to execute them; but the success such persons met with
was sporadic, uncertain, and partial. The people were grown too big, and
too well aware of their bigness, to be ground down and kept in subjection,
even had the will so to afflict them been steady and virulent--which it
cannot be said to have been. The people knew that, be the law what it
might, it could, on the whole, be evaded or disregarded, unless or until
the mother country undertook to enforce it by landing an army and
regularly making war; and England had too many troubles of her own, and
also contained too many liberal-minded men, to attempt such a thing for
the present. The proof that the colonies were not seriously or
consistently oppressed is evident from the fact that they all increased
rapidly in population and wealth, notwithstanding their "troubles"; and it
was not until England had settled down under her Georges, and that
Providence had inspired the third of that name with the pig-headedness
that cost his adopted subjects so dear, that the Revolution became a
possibility. Yet even now there was no lack of talk of such an
eventuality; the remark was common that in process of time the colonies
would declare their independence. But perhaps it was made rather with
intent to spur England to adopt preventative measures in season, than from
a real conviction that the event would actually take place.

New York, at the time of William's accession, had been under the control
of Andros, who at that epoch commanded a domain two or three times as
large as Britain. Nicholson was his lieutenant; and on the news of the
Revolution Jacob Leisler, a German, who had come over in 1660 as a soldier
of the Dutch West India Company, and had made a fortune, unseated
Nicholson and proclaimed William and Mary. Supported by the mass of the
Dutch inhabitants, but without other warrant, he assumed the functions of
royal lieutenant-governor, pending the arrival of the new king's
appointee. In the interests of order, it was the best thing to do. But he
made active enemies among the other elements of the cosmopolitan
population of New York, and they awaited an opportunity to be avenged on
him. This came with the arrival of Henry Sloughter in 1691, with the
king's commission. Sloughter can only be described as a drunken
profligate. At the earliest moment, Leisler sent to know his commands, and
offered to surrender the fort. Sloughter answered by arresting him and
Milborne, his son-in-law, on the charge of high treason--an absurdity; but
they were arraigned before a partisan court and condemned to be hanged
--they refusing to plead and appealing to the king. It is said that
Sloughter did not intend to carry the sentence into effect; but the local
enemies of Leisler made the governor drunk that night, and secured his
signature to the decree. This was on May 14, 1691; on the 15th, the house
disapproved the sentence, but on the 16th it was carried out, the victims
meeting their fate with dignity and courage. In 1695, the attainder was
reversed by act of parliament; but it remains the most disgraceful episode
of William's government of the colonies.

Meanwhile, Sloughter was recalled, and Fletcher sent out. He was not a
sodden imbecile, but he was ill-chosen for his office. He described the
New Yorkers of that day as "divided, contentious and impoverished" and
immediately began a conflict with them. His attitude may be judged from a
passage in his remarks to the assembly soon afterward: "There never was an
amendment desired by the council board but what was rejected. It is a sign
of a stubborn ill-temper.... While I stay in this government I will take
care that neither heresy, schism, nor rebellion be preached among you, nor
vice and profanity be encouraged. You seem to take the power into your own
hands and set up for everything." This last observation was probably not
devoid of truth; nor was a subsequent one, "There are none of you but what
are big with the privileges of Englishmen and Magna Charta." That well
describes the colonist of the period, whether in New York or elsewhere. It
had been said of New Yorkers, however, that they were a conquered people,
who had no rights that a king was bound to respect; and the grain of truth
in the saying may have made the New Yorkers more than commonly anxious to
keep out the small end of the wedge. Bellomont's incumbency was mild, and
chiefly memorable by reason of his having commissioned a certain William
Kidd to suppress piracy; but Kidd--if tradition is to be believed:
--certainly his most unfair and prejudiced trial in London afforded no
evidence of it--found more pleasure in the observance than in the breach,
and became the most famous pirate of them all. There is gold enough of his
getting buried along the coasts to buy a modern ironclad fleet, according
to the belief of the credulous. A little later, Steed Bonnet, Richard
Worley, and Edward Teach, nicknamed Blackbeard, had similar fame and fate.
Their business, like others of great profit, incurred great risks.

Of Lord Cornbury, the next governor, Bancroft remarks, with unwonted
energy, that "He joined the worst form of arrogance to intellectual
imbecility," and that "happily for New York, he had every vice of
character necessary to discipline a colony into self-reliance and
resistance." He began by stealing $1,500 appropriated to fortify the
Narrows; it was the last money he got from the various assemblies that he
called and dissolved, and the assemblies became steadily more independent
and embarrassing. In 1707, the Quaker speaker read out in meeting a paper
accusing him of bribe taking. Cornbury disappears from American history
the next year; and completed his career, in England, as the third Earl of
Clarendon.

Under Lovelace, the assembly refused supplies and assumed executive
powers; when Hunter came, he found a fertile and wealthy country, but
nothing in it for him: "Sancho Panza was but a type of me." He was a man
of humor and sagacity, and perceived that "the colonists are infants at
their mother's breasts, but will wean themselves when they come of age."
Before he got through with the New Yorkers, he had reason to suspect that
the weaning time had all but arrived.

New Jersey passed through many trivial vicissitudes, changes of
ownership, vexed land-titles, and royal encroachments. For several years
the people had no visible government at all. They did not hold themselves
so well in hand as did New York, and were less audacious and aggressive in
resistance; but in one way or another, they fairly held their own,
prospered and multiplied. Pennsylvania enjoyed from the first more
undisturbed independence and self-direction than the others; at one time
it seemed to be their ambition to discover something which Penn would not
grant them, and then to ask for it. But the great Quaker was equal to the
occasion; no selfishness, crankiness, or whimsicality on their part could
wear out his patience and benevolence. In the intervals of his
imprisonments in England he labored for their welfare. The queen
contemplated making Pennsylvania a royal province, but Penn, though poor,
would not let it go except on condition it might retain its democratic
liberties. The people, in short, kept everything in their own hands, and
their difficulties arose chiefly from their disputes as to what to do with
so much freedom. It was a colony where everybody was equal, without an
established church, where any one was welcome to enter and dwell, which
was destitute of arms or defense or even police, which yet grew in all
good things more rapidly than any of its sister colonies. The people waxed
fat and kicked, but they did no evil in the sight of the Lord, whatever
England may have thought of them; and after the contentious little
appendage of Delaware had finally been cut off from its big foster sister
(though they shared the same governors until the Revolution) there is
little more to be said of either of them.

The Roman Catholic owners of Maryland fared ill after William came into
power; he made the colony a royal province in 1691, and for thirty years
or more there were no more Baltimores in the government. Under Copley, the
first royal governor, the Church of England was declared to be
established; but dissenters were afterward protected; only the Catholics
were treated with intolerance in the garden themselves had made. The
people soon settled down and became contented, and slowly their numbers
augmented. But the Baltimores were persistent, and the fourth lord, in
1715, took advantage of his infancy to compass a blameless reconciliation
with the Church of England, thereby securing his installation in the
proprietary rights of his forefathers, from which the family was not
evicted until the Revolution of the colonies in 1775 opened a new chapter
in the history of the world.

Virginia recovered rapidly from Berkeley, and suffered little from
Andros, who was governor in 1692, but with his fangs drawn, and an
experience to remember. The people still eschewed towns, and lived each
family in its own solitude, hospitable to all, but content with their own
company. The love of independence grew alike in the descendants of the
cavaliers and in the common people, and the wide application of the
suffrage equalized power, and even enabled the lower sort to keep the
gentry, when the fancy took them, out of the places of authority and
trust. Democracy was in the woods and streams and the blue sky, and all
breathed it in and absorbed it into their blood and bone. They early
petitioned William for home rule in all its purity; he permitted land
grants to be confirmed, but would not let their assembly supplant the
English parliament as a governing power. He sought, unsuccessfully, to
increase the authority of the church; for though the bishop might license
and the governor recommend, the parish would not present. It was a
leisurely, good-natured, careless, but spirited people, indifferent to
commerce, content to harvest their fields and rule their slaves, and let
the world go by. A more enviable existence than theirs it would be hard to
imagine. All their financial transactions were done in tobacco, even to
the clergyman's stipend and the judge's fee. No enemy menaced them;
politics were rather an amusement than a serious duty; yet in these
fertile regions were made the brains and characters which afterward, for
so many years, ruled the councils of the United States, or led her armies
in war. They lay fallow for seventy-five years, and then gave the best of
accounts of themselves. England did not quite know what to make of the
Virginians; to judge by the reports of the governors, they were changeable
as a pretty woman. But they were simply capricious humorists, full of life
and intelligence, who did what they pleased and did not take themselves
too seriously. They indulged themselves with the novel toy, the
post-office; and founded William and Mary College in 1693. This venerable
institution passed its second centennial with one hundred and sixty
students on its roll; but, soon after, it "ceased upon the midnight,
without pain." Anybody may have a college in these days.

The Carolinas, no longer pestered by Grand Models, became another rustic
paradise. Their suns were warm, their forests vast, their people
delighting in a sort of wild civilization. When James II. went down, the
Carolinians needed no care-taker, and declined to avail themselves of the
martial law suggested by the anxious proprietors. But in 1690 they allowed
Seth Sothel to occupy the gubernatorial seat, and sent up a legislature.
The southern section was subjected to some superficial annoyance by the
proprietors, who wished to make an income from the country, but were
unwilling to put their hands in their pockets in the first place; they
insisted upon their authority, and the colonists did not say them nay, but
maintained freedom of action in all their concerns nevertheless. A series
of proprietary governors were sent out to them--Ludwell first, then Smith;
both failed, and retired. Then came Archdale, the Quaker, who struck a
popular note in his remark that dissenters could cut wood and hoe crops as
well as the highest churchmen; his policy was to concede, to conciliate
and to harmonize, and he was welcome and useful. The Indians, and even the
Spaniards, were brought into friendly relations. Liberty of conscience was
accorded to all but "papists," who were certainly hardly used in these
times. An attempt to base political power on possession of land was
defeated in 1702. The Church of England was accepted in 1704, and though
dissenters were tolerated, it remained the official dispenser of religion
until the Revolution. All these things were on the surface; the colony,
inside, was free, happy and prosperous; it had adopted rice culture, with
a great supply of negro slaves, and it brought furs from far in the
interior. The Huguenots had been enfranchised as soon as it was known that
England had turned her back on Catholicism and James. None of the colonies
had before them a future more peaceful and profitable than South Carolina.
The slaves were her only burden; but at that period they seemed not a
burden, but the assurance of her prosperity.

North Carolina was as happy and as peaceful as her southern sister, but
the conditions of life there were different. The proprietors attempted to
control the people, but were worsted in almost every encounter. Laws were
passed only to be disregarded. Here, as elsewhere, the Quakers became
conspicuous in inculcating liberal notions, and were paid the compliment
of being hated and feared by the emissaries of England. What was to be
done with a population made up of fugitives of all kinds, not from Europe
only, but from the other colonies, who held all creeds, or none at all;
who lived by hunting and tree-cutting; who were as averse from towns as
Virginia, and many of whom could not be said to have any fixed abode at
all? If restraints were proposed, they ignored them; if they were pressed,
they resisted them, sometimes boisterously, but never with bloodshed.
Robert Daniel, deputy governor in 1704, tried to establish the Church of
England; a building was erected, but in all the province there was but one
clergyman, with an absentee congregation scattered over hundreds of miles
of mountain and forest. In the following year there were two governors
elected by opposite factions, each with his own legislature; and in 1711
Edward Hyde, going out to restore order, confounded the confusion. He
called in Spotswood from Virginia to help him; but there were too many
Quakers; and the old soldier, after landing a party of marines to indicate
his disapproval of anarchy, retired. Meantime, fresh emigrants kept
arriving, including many Palatinates from Germany. It was not a profitable
country to its reputed owners, who, in 1714, received a hundred dollars
apiece from it. But it supported its inhabitants all the better; and it
was eight years more before they supplied themselves with a court house,
and forty, before they felt the need of a printing press.

In New England, Connecticut and Rhode Island, which had suffered
comparatively little from the despotism of James, readily recovered such
minor rights as they had been deprived of. There was a dispute between
Fitz-John Winthrop and Fletcher as to the command of the local militia,
the former, with his fellow colonists, demanding that the control be kept
by the colony; Winthrop went to England and got confirmation of his plea;
and from the people, on his return, the governorship. There were a score
and a half of flourishing towns in Connecticut, each with its meeting
house and school. Little Rhode Island recovered its charter, whether the
original or a duplicate. An act was pending in England to abrogate all
colonial charters, and was backed by the strong mercantile influence; but
the French war caused it to go over. Lord Cornbury, and Joseph Dudley, the
Massachusetts-born traitor, did their best to get a royal governor for
these colonies, but they failed; though Dudley, at the instance of Cotton
Mather, was afterward made governor of Massachusetts.

But no son of Massachusetts has so well deserved the condemnation of
history as Cotton Mather himself. Such political sins as his advocacy of
Dudley, and his opposition to the revival of the old charter, are
trifling; they might have been the result of ordinary blindness or
selfishness merely; but his part in the witchcraft delusion cannot be so
accounted for. In his persecution of the accused persons he was actuated
by a spirit of inflamed vanity and malignity truly diabolic; and if there
can be a crime which Heaven cannot forgive, assuredly Cotton Mather
steeped himself in it. He was a singular being; yet he represented the
evil tendencies of Puritanism; they drained into him, so to say, until he
became their sensible incarnation. In his person, at last, the Puritans of
Massachusetts beheld united every devilish trait to which the tenets of
their belief could incline them; and the hideousness of the spectacle so
impressed them that, from that time forward, any further Cotton Mathers
became impossible. There is no feature in Mather's case that can be held
to palliate his conduct. He had the best education of the time, coming, as
he did, from a line of scholars, and out-Heroding them in the variety and
curiousness of his accomplishments, and in the number of his published
"works"--three hundred and eighty-three. Nothing that he produced has any
original value; but his erudition was enormous. Of "Magnalia," his chief
and representative work, it has been said that "it is a heterogeneous and
polyglot compilation of information useful and useless, of unbridled
pedantry, of religious adjuration, biographical anecdotes, political
maxims, and theories of education.... Indeed, it contains everything
except order, accuracy, sobriety, proportion, development, and upshot."
This man, born in 1663, was not yet thirty years of age when his campaign
against the witches began; indeed, he had given a hint of his direction
some years earlier. In his multifarious reading he had become acquainted
with all existing traditions and speculations concerning witchcraft, and
his profession as minister in the Calvinist communion predisposed him to
investigate all accessible details concerning the devil. He was
passionately hungry for notoriety and conspicuousness: Tydides melior
patre was the ambition he proposed to himself.

A huge memory, stored with the promiscuous rubbish of libraries, and with
facts which were transformed into rubbish by his treatment of them, was
combined in him with a diseased imagination, and a personal vanity almost
surpassing belief. His mental shallowness and consequent restlessness
rendered anything like original thought impossible to him; and the faculty
of intellectual digestion was not less beyond him. It is probable that
curiosity was the motive which originally drew him to the study of
witchcraft; a vague credence of such things was common at the time; and in
France and England many executions for the supposed crime had taken place.
Mather had no convictions on the subject; he was incapable of convictions
of any kind; and the revelation of his private diary shows that at the
very time he was wallowing in murders, and shrieking out for ever more
victims, he was in secret doubting the truth of all religion, and
coquetting with atheism. But men of no religious faith are prone to
superstitions; the man who denies God is the first to seek for guidance
from the stars. Suppose there should be a devil?--was Mather's thought. It
is not to be wondered at that such a man should be fascinated by the
notion; and we may perhaps concede to Mather that, if at any time in his
career he approached belief in anything, the devil was the subject of his
belief. Had his character been genuine and vigorous, such a belief would
have led him to plunge into witchcraft, not as a persecutor, but as a
performer; he would have aimed to be chief at the witches' Sabbath, and to
have rioted in the terrible powers with which Satan's children were
credited. But he was far from owning this bold and trenchant fiber: though
he could not believe in God, he dared not defy Him; and still he could not
refrain from dabbling in the forbidden mysteries. Moreover, there was an
obscure and questionable faculty inherent in certain persons,
unaccountable on any recognized natural grounds, which gave support to the
witchcraft theory. We call this faculty hypnotism now; and physiology
seeks to connect it with the nervous affections of hysteria and epilepsy.
At all times, and in all quarters of the earth, manifestations of it have
not been wanting; and in Africa it has for centuries existed as a
so-called religious cult, to which in this country the name of Hoodooism
or Voodooism has been applied. It is a savage form of devil worship,
including snake-charming, and the lore of fetiches and charms; and its
professors are able to produce abnormal effects, within certain limits,
upon the nerves and imaginations of their clients or victims. Among the
negro slaves in Massachusetts in 1692, and the negro-Indian mongrels,
there were persons able to exercise this power. They attracted the
attention of Cotton Mather.

Gradually, we may suppose, the idea took form in his mind that if he
could not be a witch himself, he might gain the notoriety he craved by
becoming the denouncer of witchcraft in others. Ministers in that day
still had great influence in New England, and had grasped at temporal as
well as spiritual sway, maintaining that the former should rightly involve
the latter. What a minister said, had weight; what so well-known a
minister as Cotton Mather said, would carry conviction to many. If Mather
could procure the execution of a witch or two, it could not fail to add
greatly to his spiritual glory and ascendency. It is, of course, not to be
imagined that he had any conception, beforehand, of the extent to which
the agitation he was about to begin would be carried. But when evil is
once let loose, it multiplies itself and gains impetus, and rages like a
fire. The only thing for Mather to do was to keep abreast of the mischief
which he had created. If he faltered or relented, he would be himself
destroyed. He was whirled along with the foul storm by a mingling of
terror, malice, vanity, triumph and fascination: as repulsive and
dastardly a figure as has ever stained the records of our country. He was
ready to sacrifice the population of Massachusetts rather than confess
that the deeds for which he was responsible were based on what, in his
secret soul, he unquestionably felt was a delusion. For though he may have
half-believed in witchcraft while it presented itself to him as a theory,
yet as soon as he had reached the stage of actual examinations and court
testimony, he could not fail to perceive that the theory was utterly
devoid of reasonable foundation; that convictions could not be had except
by aid of open perjury, suppression and intimidation. Yet Cotton Mather
scrupled not to put in operation these and other devices; to hound on the
magistrates, to browbeat and sophisticate the juries, and to scream
threats, warnings and self-glorifications from the pulpit. Needs must,
when the devil drives. Had he paused, had he even held his peace, that
noose, slimy with the death-sweat of a score of innocent victims, would
have settled greedily round his own guilty neck, and strangled his life.
But Cotton Mather was too nimble, too voluble, too false and too cowardly
for the gallows; he lived to a good age, and died in the odor of sanctity.

Immediately after the news of William's accession was known in New
England, Mather opposed the restoration of the ancient charter, because it
would have interfered with the plans of his personal political ambition.
He caused the presentation of an address to the king, purporting to
represent the desire of the majority of reputable citizens of Boston,
placing themselves at the royal disposal, without suggesting that the
charter rights be revived. Cotton Mather's father, Increase, was the
actual agent to England; but it was the views of Cotton Mather rather than
his own that he submitted to his majesty. The blatant hypocrite had
dominated his father. The king gave Massachusetts a new charter which was
entirely satisfactory to the petitioners, for it took away the right of
the people to elect their own officers and manage their own affairs, and
made the king the fountain of power and honor. It was identical with all
charters of royal colonies, except that the council was elected jointly by
the people and by its own members. Sir William Phips, at Increase Mather's
suggestion, was made governor, and William Stoughton lieutenant-governor.
The members of the council were "every man of them a friend to the
interests of the churches," and of Cotton Mather. He did not conceal his
delight. "The time for favor is come, yea, the set time is come! Instead
of my being made a sacrifice to wicked rulers, my father-in-law, with
several related to me, and several brethren of my own church, are among
the council. The governor is not my enemy, but one whom I baptized, and
one of my own flock, and one of my dearest friends.--I obtained of the
Lord that He would use me to be a herald of His kingdom now approaching."
Such was the attitude of Cotton Mather regarding the political outlook.
Obviously the field was prepared for him to achieve his crowning
distinction as champion of God against the devil in Massachusetts. In
February of the next year he found his first opportunity.

There was in Salem a certain Reverend Samuel Parris who had a daughter, a
niece, and a negro-Indian servant called Tituba. The children were about
twelve years of age, and much in Tituba's society. Parris was an
Englishman born, and was at this time forty-one years old; he had left
Harvard College without a degree, had been in trade in Boston, and had
entered the ministry and obtained the pastorship of the Congregational
church at Danvers, then a part of Salem, three or four years before. He
had not lived at peace with his people; he had quarreled bitterly with
some of them, and the scandal had been noised abroad. He was a man of
brutal temper, and without moral integrity. These were the dramatis
personae employed by Cotton Mather in the first scene of his hideous farce.

The children, at the critical age between childhood and puberty, were in
a condition to be readily worked upon; it is the age when the nervous
system is disorganized, the moral sense unformed, and the imagination
ignorant and unbridled. Many children are liars and deceivers, and
self-deceivers, then, who afterward develop into sanity and goodness. But
these unhappy little creatures were under the fascination of the
illiterate and abnormal mongrel, and she secretly ravished and fascinated
them with her inexplicable powers and obscure devices. Their antics
aroused suspicions in the coarse and perhaps superstitious mind of Parris;
he catechised them; the woman's husband told what he knew; and Parris beat
her till she consented to say she was a witch. Such phenomena could only
be due to witchcraft. The cunning and seeming malignity of the children
would tax belief, were it not so familiar a fact in children; and notable
also was their histrionic ability. They were excited by the sensation they
aroused, and vain of it; they were willing to do what they could to
prolong it. But they hardly needed to invent anything; more than was
necessary was suggested to them by questions and comments. They were quick
to take hints, and improve upon them. Sarah Good, Martha Cory, Rebecca
Nourse, and all the rest, must be their victims; but God will forgive the
children, for they know not what they do. Presently, the contagion spread;
though, upon strict examination of the evidence, not nearly so far as was
supposed. Hundreds were bewildered and terrified, as well they might be;
the magistrates--Stoughton, Sewall, John Hathorne, poor Octogenarian
Bradstreet, Sir William Phips--these and others to whom it fell to
investigate and pronounce sentence--let us hope that some, if not all of
them, truly believed that their sentences were just. "God will give you
blood to drink!" was what Sarah Good said to Noyes, as she stood on the
scaffold. But why may they not have believed they were in the right? There
was Cotton Mather, the holy man, the champion against the Evil One, the
saint who walked with God, and daily lifted up his voice in prayer and
defiance and thanksgiving--he was ever at hand, to cross-question, to
insinuate, to surmise, to bluster, to interpret, to terrify, to perplex,
to vociferate: surely, this paragon of learning and virtue must know more
about the devil than any mere layman could pretend to know; and they must
accept his assurance and guidance. "I stake my reputation," he shouted,
"upon the truth of these accusations." And he pointedly prayed that the
trial might "have a good issue." When Deliverance Hobbs was under
examination, she did but cast a glance toward the meeting house, "and,"
cries the Reverend gentleman, in an ecstasy of indignation, "immediately a
demon, invisibly entering the house, tore down a part of it!" No wonder a
man so gifted as he, was conscious of a certain gratification amid all the
horrors of the diabolic visitation, for how could he regard it otherwise
than as--in his own words--"a particular defiance unto myself!" Such was
the pose which he adopted before his countrymen: that of a semi-divine, or
quite Divine man, standing between his fellow creatures and the assaults
of hell. And then Cotton Mather would go home to his secret chamber, and
write in his diary that God and religion were perhaps, after all, but an
old wives' tale.

Parris, as soon as he comprehended Mather's drift, ably seconded him. He
had his own grudges against his neighbors to work off, and nothing could
be easier. All that was needed was for one of the children, or any one
else, to affirm that they were afflicted, and perhaps to foam at the
mouth, or be contorted as in a fit, and to accuse whatever person they
chose as being the cause of their trouble. Accusation was equivalent to
condemnation; for to deny it, was to be subjected to torture until
confession was extorted; if the accused did not confess, he or she was,
according to Cotton Mather, supported by the evil one, and being a witch,
must die. If they did confess, they were spared or executed according to
circumstances. If any one expressed any doubt as to the justice of the
sentence, or as to the existence of witchcraft, it was proof that that
person was a witch. The only security was to join the ranks of the
afflicted. In the course of a few months a reign of terror was
established, and hundreds of people, some of them citizens of distinction,
were in jail or under suspicion. Twenty were hanged on Witches' Hill, west
of the town of Salem, while Cotton Mather sate comfortably by on his
horse, and assured the people that all was well, and that the devil could
sometimes assume the appearance of an angel of light--as, indeed, he might
have good cause to believe. But the mass of the people were averse from
bloodshed, and none too sure that these executions were other than
murders; and when the wife of Governor Phips was accused, the frenzy had
passed its height. It was perceived that the community, or a part of it,
had been stampeded by a panic or infatuation. They had done and
countenanced things which now seemed impossible even to themselves. How
could they have condemned the Reverend George Burroughs on the ground that
he had exhibited remarkable physical strength, and that the witnesses
against him had pretended dumbness? "Why is the devil so loth to have
testimony borne against you?" Judge Stoughton had asked; and Cotton Mather
had said "Enough!" But was it enough, indeed? If a witness simply by
holding his peace can hang a minister of blameless life, who may escape
hanging by a witness who will talk? It was remembered that Parris had been
Burroughs's rival, and instrumental in his conviction; and now that the
frenzy was past it was easy to point out the relation between the two
facts. There, too, was the venerable Giles Cory, who had been pressed to
death, not for pleading guilty, nor yet for pleading not guilty, but for
declining to plead at all. There, once more, was John Willard, to whom the
duty of arresting accused witches had been assigned; he, as a person of
common sense and honesty, had intimated his disbelief in the reality of
witchcraft by refusing to arrest; and for this, and no other crime, had he
been hanged. Had it really come to this, then--that one must die for
having it inferred, from some act of his, that he held an opinion on the
subject of witchcraft different from that announced by Mather and the
magistrates?--It had come to precisely that, in a community who were
exiles in order to secure liberty to have what opinions they liked. Then,
it was time that the witchcraft persecutions came to an end; and they did,
as abruptly as they had begun. Mather, indeed, and a few more, frightened
lest the people, in their recovered sanity, should turn upon them for an
accounting, strove their best to keep up the horror; but it was not to be.
No more convictions could be obtained. In February of 1693, Parris was
banished from Salem; others, except Stoughton, who remained obdurate, made
public confession of error. But Cotton Mather, the soul of the whole
iniquity, shrouded himself in a cuttle-fish cloud of turgid rhetoric, and
escaped scot-free. So great was the power of theological prestige in New
England two hundred years ago.

There is little doubt that the sincere believers in the witchcraft
delusion were very scanty. The vast majority of the people were simply
victims of moral and physical cowardice. They feared to exchange views
with one another frankly, lest their interlocutor turn out an informer.
They repeated, parrot-like, the conventional utterances--the shibboleths
--of the hour, and thus hid from one another the real thoughts which would
have scotched the mania at the outset. Once plant mutual suspicion and
dread among a people, and, for a time, you may drive them whither you
will. It was by that means that the Council of Ten ruled in Venice, the
Inquisition in Spain, and the Vehmgericht in Germany; and it was by that
means that Cotton Mather enslaved Salem. The episode is a stain on the
fair page of our history; but Cotton Mather was the origin and agent of
it; Parris may have voluntarily assisted him, and some or all of the
magistrates and others concerned may have been his dupes; but beyond this
handful, the support was never more than perfunctory. The instant the
weight of dread was lightened everybody discovered that everybody else had
believed all along that the whole thing was either a delusion or a fraud.
Until then, they had none of them had the courage to say so--that was all.
And let us not be scornful: the kind of courage that _would_ say so
is the very rarest and highest courage in the world.

But though Cotton Mather is almost or entirely chargeable with the guilt
of the twenty murders on Witches' Hill, not to mention the incalculable
agony of soul and domestic misery incidentally occasioned, yet it must not
be forgotten that he was of Puritan stock and training, and that false and
detestable though his individual nature doubtless was, his crimes, but for
Puritanism, could not have taken the form they did. Puritanism was prone
to brood over predestination, over the flames of hell, and him who kept
them burning; it was severe in repressing natural expressions of gayety;
it was intolerant of unlicensed opinions, and it crushed spontaneity and
innocent frivolity. It aimed, in a word, to deform human nature, and make
of it somewhat rigid and artificial. These were some of the faults of
Puritanism, and it was these which made possible such a monstrosity as
Cotton Mather. He was, in a measure, a creature of his time and place, and
in this degree we must consider Puritanism as amenable, with him, at the
bar of history. It is for this reason solely that the witchcraft episode
assumes historical importance, instead of being a side-scene of ghastly
picturesqueness. For the Puritans took it to heart; they never forgot it;
it modified their character, and gave a favorable turn to their future.
Gradually the evil of their system was purged out of it, while the good
remained; they became less harsh, but not less strong; they were
high-minded, still, but they abjured narrowness. They would not go so far
as to deny that the devil might afflict mankind, but they declared
themselves unqualified to prove it. There began in them, in short, the
dawn of human sympathies, and the growth of spiritual humility. Cotton
Mather, with all that he represented, sinks into the mire; but the true
Puritan arises, and goes forward with lightened heart to the mighty
destiny that awaits him.

As for bluff Sir William Phips, he is better remembered for his youthful
exploits of hoisting treasure from the fifty-year-old wreck of a Spanish
galleon, in the reign of King James, and of building with some of the
proceeds his "fair brick house, in the Green Lane of Boston," than for his
administration of government during his term of office. He was an
uneducated, rough-handed, rough-natured man, a ship-carpenter by trade,
and a mariner of experience; statesmanship and diplomacy were not his
proper business. A wise head as well as a strong hand was needed at the
helm of Massachusetts just at that juncture. But he did not prevent the
legislature from passing some good laws, and from renewing the life of New
England towns, which had been suppressed by Andros. The new charter had
greatly enlarged the Massachusetts domain, which now extended over the
northern and eastern regions that included Maine; but, as we shall
presently see, the obligation to defend this territory against the French
and Indians cost the colony much more than could be recompensed by any
benefit they got from it. Phips captured Port Royal, but failed to take
Quebec. The legislature, advised by the public-spirited Elisha Cooke, kept
the royal officials in hand by refusing to vote them permanent salaries or
regular revenues. Bellomont succeeded Phips, and Dudley, in 1702, followed
Bellomont, upon the solicitation of Cotton Mather; who long ere this, in
his "Book of Memorable Providences," had shifted all blame for the late
tragic occurrences from his own shoulders to those of the Almighty. Dudley
retained the governorship till 1715. The weight of what authority he had
was on the side of restricting charter privileges; but he could produce no
measurable effect in retarding the mighty growth of liberty. We shall not
meet him again.

New Hampshire fully maintained her reputation for intractability; and the
general drift of colonial affairs toward freedom was so marked as to
become a common subject of remark in Europe. Some of the best heads there
began to suggest that such a consummation might not be inexpedient. But
before England and her Colonies were to try their strength against one
another, there were to occur the four colonial wars, by which the
colonists were unwittingly trained to meet their most formidable and their
final adversary.



CHAPTER TENTH

FIFTY YEARS OF FOOLS AND HEROES


When thieves fall out, honest men come by their own. The first clause of
this sentence may serve to describe the Colonial Wars in America; the
second, to point the moral of the American Revolution.

Columbus, and the other great mariners of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth
Centuries, might claim for their motives an admixture, at least, of
thoughts higher than mere material gain: the desire to enlarge knowledge,
to win glory, to solve problems. But the patrons and proprietors of the
adventurers had an eye single to profit. To make money was their aim. In
overland trading there was small profit and scanty business; but the
opening of the sea as a path to foreign countries, and a revelation of
their existence--and of the fortuitous fact that they were inhabited by
savages who could not defend themselves--completely transformed the
situation.

Ships could bring in months more, a hundred-fold more, merchandise than
caravans could transport in years; and the expenses of carriage were
minimized. Goods thus placed in the market could be sold at a vast profit.
This was the first obvious fact. Secondly, this profit could be made to
inure exclusively to that country whose ships made the discovery, by the
simple device of claiming, as integral parts of the kingdom, whatever new
lands they discovered; the ships of all other nations could then be
forbidden to trade there. Thirdly, colonists could be sent out, who would
serve a double use:--they would develop and export the products of the new
country; and they would constitute an ever-increasing market for the
exports of the home country.

Such was the ideal. To realize it, three things were necessary: first,
that the natives--the "heathen"--should be dominated, and either converted
or exterminated; next, that the fiat of exclusion against other nations
should be made good; and finally (most vital of all, though the last to be
considered), that the colonists themselves should forfeit all but a
fraction of their personal interests in favor of the monopolists at home.

Now, as to the heathen, some of them, like the Caribbeans, could be--and
by Spanish methods, they were--exterminated. Others, such as the Mexican
and Central and South American tribes, could be in part killed off, in
part "converted" as it was called. Others again, like the Indians of North
America, could neither be converted nor exterminated; but they could be in
a measure conciliated, and they could always be fought. The general result
was that the natives co-operated to a certain extent in providing articles
for export (chiefly furs), and on the other hand, delayed colonization by
occasionally massacring the first small groups of colonists. In the long
run however most of them disappeared, so far as power either for use or
for offense was concerned.

The attempt of the several colonizing powers to make their rivals keep
out of their preserves was not successful. Piracy, smuggling,
privateering, and open war were the answers of the nations to one
another's inhibitions, though, all the while, none of them questioned the
correctness of the excluding principle. Each of them practiced it
themselves, though trying to defeat its practice by others. Portugal, the
first of the foreign-trading and monopolizing nations, was early forced
out of the business by more powerful rivals; Holland was the first to call
the principle itself in question, and to fight in the cause of free
commerce; though even she had her little private treasure-box in Java.
Spain's commerce was, during the next centuries, seriously impaired by the
growing might of England. France was the next to suffer; and finally
England, after meeting with much opposition from her own colonies, was
called upon to confront a European coalition; and while she was putting
forth her strength to overcome that, her colonies revolted, and achieved
their independence. Such was the history and fate of the colonial system;
though Spain still retained much of her American possessions (owing to
peculiar conditions) for years afterward.

But England might have retained her settlements too, so far as Europe was
concerned; the real cause of her discomfiture lay in the fact that her
colonists were mainly people of her own blood, all of them with an
inextinguishable love of liberty, which was fostered and confirmed by
their marriage with the wilderness; and many of whom were also actuated by
considerations of religion and conscience, the value of which they placed
above everything else. They wished to be "loyal," but they would not
surrender what they termed innate rights; they would not be taxed without
representation, nor be debarred from manufacturing; nor consent to make
England their sole depot and source of supplies. They would not surrender
their privilege to be governed by representatives elected by themselves.
England, as we have seen, contended against this spirit by all manner of
more or less successful enactments and acts of despotism; until at last,
near the opening of the Eighteenth Century, it became evident to a few
far-seeing persons on both sides that the matter could only be settled by
open force. But this method of arbitrament was postponed for half a
century by the Colonial Wars, which made of the colonists a united people,
and educated them, from farmers and traders, into a military nation. Then
the war came, and the United States was its consequence.

The Colonial Wars were between England on one side, and Spain and France
on the other. Spain was not a serious foe, or obstacle; England had no
special hankering after Florida and Mexico, and she knew nothing about the
great Californian region. But France harried her on the north, and pushed
her back on the west, the first collisions in this direction occurring at
the Alleghanies and along the Ohio River. France had discovered, claimed,
and in a certain sense occupied, a huge wedge of the present United
States: an area which (apart from Canada) extended from Maine to Oregon,
and down in converging lines to the Gulf of Mexico. They called it
Louisiana. The story of the men who explored it is a story of heroism,
devotion, energy and sublime courage perhaps unequaled in the history of
the world. But France failed to follow up these men with substantial
colonies. Colonies could not help the fur trade at the north, and the
climate there was anything but attractive; and mishaps of various kinds
prevented the colonizing of the great Mississippi valley. There was a
little French settlement near the mouths of that river, the descendants of
which still give character to New Orleans; but the rest of the enormous
triangle was occupied chiefly by missionaries and trappers, and, during
the wars, with the operating military forces. France would have made a far
less effective resistance than she did, had she not observed, from the
first, the policy of allying herself with the Indian tribes, and even
incorporating them with herself. All converted Indians were French
citizens by law; the French soldiers and settlers intermarried to a large
extent with the red men, and the half-breed became almost a race of
itself. The savages took much more kindly to the picturesque and emotional
Church of Rome than to the gloomy severities of the Puritan Calvinists;
the "praying Indians" were numerous; and the Cross became a real link
between the red men and the white. This fact was of immense value in the
wars with the English; and had it not been for the neutrality or active
friendliness of a group of tribes whom the Jesuit missionaries had failed
to win, the English colonies might have been quite obliterated. The policy
of employing savages in warfare between civilized states was denounced
then and afterward; it led to the perpetration of sickening barbarities;
but it was France's only chance, and, speaking practically, it was hardly
avoidable. Besides, the English did not hesitate to enlist Indians on
their side, when they could. Had the savages fought after the manner of
the white men, it would have been well enough; but on the contrary, they
imposed their methods upon the whites; and most of the conflicts had more
of the character of massacres than of battles. Women and children were
mercilessly slain, or carried into captivity. But it must be remembered
that the American continent, at that time, did not admit of such tactics
as were employed in Europe--as Braddock found to his cost; operations must
be chiefly by ambuscade and surprise; when the town or the fort was
captured, it was not easy to restrain the wild men; and if they plied the
tomahawk without regard to sex or age, the white soldiers, little less
savage, readily learned to follow their example. After all, the wars were
necessarily for extermination, and there is no better way to exterminate a
people--as Spain has uniformly shown from the beginning to the end of her
history--than by murdering their women and children. They are "innocent,"
no doubt, so far as active hostilities are concerned; but they breed, or
become, men and thereby threaten the future. Moreover, not a few of the
women did deeds of warlike valor themselves. It was a savage time, and war
has its hideous side always, and in this period seemed to have hardly any
other.

The pioneering on this continent of the Spanish and the French, though in
itself a captivating story, cannot properly be dwelt on in a history of
the growth of the American principle. Ponce de Leon traversed Florida in
the first quarter of the Sixteenth Century, hunting for the Fountain of
Immortality, and finding death. Hernando de Soto wandered over the area of
several of our present Southern States, and discovered the lower reaches
of the Mississippi; he was a man of blood, and his blood was shed. Some
score of years later Spaniards massacred the Huguenot colony at St.
Augustine, and built that oldest of American cities. Beyond this, on the
Atlantic slope, they never proceeded, having enough to do further south.
But they lay claim, even in these closing years of the Nineteenth Century,
to the entire American continent--"if they had their rights."

The French began their American career with an Italian employé,
Verrazano, who spied out the coast from Florida to Newfoundland in 1524.
Then Cartier peered into the wide mouth of the St. Lawrence, and tried to
get to India by that route, but got no further than the present Montreal.
In the next century, Champlain, one of the great explorers and the first
governor of Canada, laid the corner-stone of Quebec; it became at once the
center of Canadian trade which it has ever since remained. This was in
1608. In respect of enterprise as explorers, the French easily surpassed
the farm-loving, home-building, multiplying colonists of England. But
England took advantage of French discoveries, and stayed, and prevailed.
God makes men help each other in their own despite.

Richelieu said in 1627 that the name, New France, designated the whole
continent of America from the North Pole down to Florida. The Jesuits, who
arose as a counteracting force to Luther and the Reformation, supplanted
the Franciscans as missionaries among the heathen, and performed what can
only be called prodigies of self-sacrifice and intrepidity. Loyola was a
worthy antagonist of Calvin, and the first achievements of his followers
were the more striking. But the magnificent exploits of these men were not
the preliminary of commensurate colonization. The spirit of Calvin
inspired large bodies of men and women to establish themselves in the
wilderness in order to cultivate his doctrines without interference; the
spirit of Loyola embodied no new religious principle; it simply kindled
individuals to fresh exertions to promulgate the unchanging dogmas of the
Roman Church. The Jesuits were leaders without followers; their mission
was to bring the Church to the heathen, and the heathen into the Church;
and the impressiveness of their activity was due to the daring and faith
which pitted units against thousands, and refused to accept defeat. They
were the knight-errantry of religion. The fame of their deeds inspired
enthusiasm in France, so that noble women gave up their luxurious lives,
for the sake of planting faith in the inhospitable immensities of the
Canadian forests; but the mass of the common people were not stimulated or
attracted; the profits of the fur-trade employed but a handful; and the
blood of the Jesuit martyrs--none more genuine ever died--was poured out
almost without practical results. Our estimate of human nature is exalted;
but there are no happy communities to-day which owe their existence to the
Jesuit pioneers. The priests themselves were wifeless and childless, and
the family hearthstone could not be planted on the sites of their
immolations and triumphs. Nor were the disciples of Loyola aided, as were
the Calvinists, by persecution at home. All alike were good Catholics. But
had the Jesuits advocated but a single principle of human freedom, France
might have been mistress of America to-day.

So, under the One Hundred Assistants, as the French colonizing Company of
the early Seventeenth Century was called, missions were dotted throughout
the loneliness and terror of the wilderness; Breboeuf and Daniel did their
work and met their fate; Raymbault carried the cross to Lake Superior;
Gabriel Dreuilettes came down the Kennebec; Jogues was tortured by the
Mohawks; Lallemand shed his blood serenely; Chaumont and Dablon built
their chapel where now stands Syracuse; and after all, there stood the
primeval forests, pathless as before, and the red men were but partially
and transiently affected. The Hundred Assistants were dissolved, and a new
colonial organization was operating in 1664; soldiers were sent over, and
the Jesuits, still unweariedly in the van, pushed westward to Michigan,
and Marquette and Joliet, two young men of thirty-six and twenty-seven,
discovered the Mississippi, and descended it as far as Des Moines; but
still, all the inhabitants of New France could easily have mustered in a
ten-acre field. Then, in 1666 came Robert Cavelier La Salle, a cadet of a
good family, educated in a Jesuit seminary, but destined to incur the
enmity of the order, and at last to perish, not indeed at their hands, but
in consequence of conditions largely due to them. The towering genius of
this young man--he was but just past his majority when he came to
Montreal, and he was murdered by his treacherous traveling companion,
Duhaut, on a branch of Trinity River in Texas, before he had reached the
age of five and forty--his indomitable courage, his tact and firmness in
dealing with all kinds of men, from the Grand Monarch to the humblest
savage, his great thoughts and his wonderful exploits, his brilliant
fortune and his appalling calamities, both of which he met with an equal
mind:--these qualities and the events which displayed them make La Salle
the peer, at least, of any of his countrymen of that age. What must be the
temper of a man who, after encountering and overcoming incredible
opposition, after being the victim of unrelenting misfortune, including
loss of means, friends, and credit, of deadly fevers, of shipwreck,--could
rise to his feet amid the destruction of all that he had labored for
twenty years to build up, and confidently and cheerfully undertake the
enterprise of traveling on foot from Galveston in Texas to Montreal in
Canada, to ask for help to re-establish his colony? It is a formidable
journey to-day, with all the appliances of steam and the luxury of food
and accommodation that science and ingenuity can frame; it would be a
portentous trip for the most accomplished modern pedestrian, assisted
though he would be by roads, friendly wayside inns and farms, maps of the
route, and hobnailed walking boots. La Salle undertook it with thousands
of miles of uncharted wilderness before him, through tribes assumed to be
hostile till they proved themselves otherwise, with doubtful and
quarreling companions, and shod with moccasins of green hide. Even of the
Frenchmen whom he might meet after reaching Illinois, the majority, being
under Jesuit influence, would be hostile. But he had faced and conquered
difficulties as great as these, and he had no fear. At the time the
scoundrel Duhaut shot him from ambush, he was making hopeful progress. But
it was decreed that France was not to stay in America. La Salle discovered
the Ohio and the Illinois, built Fort Crevecoeur, and started a colony on
the coast of Texas; he received a patent of nobility, and lost his fortune
and his life. The pathos of such a death lies in the consideration that
his plans died with him. It was the year before the accession of William
of Orange; and the first war with France began two years later.

France, after all drawbacks, was far from being a foe to be slighted. The
English colonists outnumbered hers, but hers were all soldiers; they had
trained the Indians to the use of firearms, had taught them how to build
forts, and by treating them as equals, had won the confidence and
friendship of many of them. The English colonies, on the other hand, had
as yet no idea of co-operation; each had its own ideas and ways of
existence; they had never met and formed acquaintance with one another
through a common congress of representatives. They were planters, farmers
and merchants, with no further knowledge of war than was to be gained by
repelling the attacks of savages, and retaliating in kind. They had the
friendship of the Five Nations, and they received help from English
regiments. But the latter had no experience of forest fighting, and made
several times the fatal mistake of undervaluing their enemy, as well as
clinging to impracticable formations and tactics. The English officers did
not conceal their contempt for the "provincial" troops, who were not,
indeed, comely to look at from the conventional military standpoint, but
who bore the brunt of the fighting, won most of the successes, and were
entirely capable of resenting the slights to which they were unjustly
subjected. What was quite as important, bearing in mind what was to happen
in 1775, they learned to gauge the British fighting capacity, and did not
fear, when the time came, to match themselves against it.

King William's War lasted from 1689 to 1697. Louis XIV. had refused to
recognize William as a legitimate king of England, and undertook to
champion the cause of the dethroned James. The conduct of the war in
Europe does not belong to our inquiry. The proper course for the French to
have adopted in America would have been to encourage the English colonies
to revolt against the king; but the statesmanship of that age had not
conceived the idea of colonial independence. Besides, the colonies would
not at that epoch have fallen in with the scheme; they might have been
influenced to rise against a Stuart, but not against a William. There was
no general plan of campaign on either side. There was no question as yet
about the western borders. There was but one point of contact of New
France and the English colonies--the northern boundaries of New England
and New York. The position of the English, strung along a thousand miles
of the Atlantic coast, did not favor concentration against the enemy, and
still less was it possible for the latter, with their small force, to
march south and overrun the country. What could be done then? Obviously,
nothing but to make incursions across the line, after the style of the
English and Scottish border warfare. Nothing could be gained, except the
making of each other miserable. But that was enough, since two kings,
neither of whom any of the combatants had seen, were angry with each other
three thousand miles away. Louis does not admit the right of William,
doesn't he?--says the Massachusetts farmer to the Canadian coureur des
bois; and without more ado they fly at each others' throats.

The successes, such as they were, were chiefly on the side of the French.
Small parties of Indians, or of French and Indians combined, would steal
down upon the New York and New England farms and villages, suddenly leap
out upon the man and his sons working in their clearings, upon the woman
and her children in the hut: a whoop, a popping of musket shots and
whistling of arrows, then the vicious swish and crash of the murderous
tomahawk, followed by the dexterous twist of the scalping-knife, and the
snatching of the tuft of hair from the bleeding skull. That is all--but,
no: there still remains a baby or two who must be caught up by the leg,
and have its brains dashed out on the door-jamb; and if any able-bodied
persons survive, they are to be loaded with their own household goods, and
driven hundreds of miles over snows, or through heats, to Canada, as
slaves. Should they drop by the way, as Mrs. Williams did, down comes the
tomahawk again. Or perhaps a Mrs. Dustin learns how to use the weapon so
as to kill at a blow, and that night puts her knowledge to the proof on
the skulls of ten sleeping savages, and so escapes. Occasionally there is
a more important massacre, like that at Schenectady, or Deerfield. But
these Indian surprises are not only revolting, but monotonous to
weariness, and, as they accomplished nothing but a given number of
murders, there is nothing to be learned from them. They are meaningless;
and we can hardly imagine even the Grand Monarch, or William of Orange,
being elated or depressed by their details.

There were no French farms or small villages to be attacked in requital,
so it was necessary for the English to proceed against Port Royal or
Quebec. The aged but bloodthirsty Frontenac was governor of Canada at this
time, and proved himself able (aided by the imbecility of the attack) to
defend it. In March of 1690 a sort of congress had met at Albany, which
sent word to the several colonial governors to dispatch commissioners to
Rhode Island for a general conference for adopting measures of defense and
offense.

The delegates met in May or the last of April, at New York, and decided
to conquer Canada by a two-headed campaign; one army to go by way of Lake
Champlain to Montreal, while a fleet should proceed against Quebec. Sir
William Phips of Massachusetts was off to Port Royal within four weeks,
and took it without an effort, there being hardly any one to defend it.
But Leisler of New York and Winthrop of Connecticut quarreled at Lake
Champlain, and that part of the plan came to a disgraceful end forthwith.
A month or so later, Phips was blundering pilotless into the St. Lawrence,
with two thousand Massachusetts men on thirty-four vessels. Their coming
had been prepared for, and when they demanded the surrender of the
impregnable fortress, with a garrison more numerous than themselves, they
were answered with jeers; and it is painful to add that they turned round
and set out for home again without striking a blow. A storm completed
their discomfiture; and when Phips at last brought what was left of his
fleet into harbor, he found the treasury empty, and was forced to issue
paper money to pay his bills.

No further talk of "On to Quebec" was heard for some time. Port Royal was
retaken by a French vessel. Parties of Indians, encouraged by the Jesuits,
again stole over the border and did the familiar work. Schuyler, on the
English side, succeeded in making a successful foray in 1691; and a fort
was built at Pemaquid--to be taken, five years afterward, by Iberville and
Castin. In 1693 an English fleet, which had been beaten at Martinique,
came to Boston with orders to conquer Canada; but as it was manned by
warriors half of whom were dying of malignant yellow fever, Canada was
spared once more. The only really formidable enemies that Frontenac could
discover were the Five Nations, whom he tried in vain to frighten or to
conciliate. He himself, at the age of seventy-four, headed the last
expedition against them, in the summer of 1696. It returned without having
accomplished anything except the burning of villages and the laying waste
of lands. The following year peace was signed at Ryswick, a village in
South Holland. France had done well in the field and by negotiations; but
England had sustained no serious reverses, and having borrowed money from
a group of private capitalists, whom it chartered as the Bank of England
in 1694, was financially stronger than ever. Louis accepted the results of
the English Revolution, but kept his American holdings; and the boundaries
between these and the English colonies were not settled. The Five Nations
were not pacified till 1700. The French continued their occupation of the
Mississippi basin, and in 1699 Lemoine Iberville sailed for the
Mississippi, and built a fort on the bay of Biloxi. Communication was now
established between the Gulf of Mexico and Quebec. The English, through
the agency of a New Jerseyman named Coxe, and a forged journal of
exploration by Hennepin, tried to get a foothold on the great river, but
the attempt was fruitless. Fruitless, likewise, were French efforts to
find gold, or, indeed, to establish a substantial colony themselves in the
feverish Louisiana region. Iberville caught the yellow plague and never
fully recovered; and the desert-girded fort at Mobile seemed a small
result for so much exertion.

In truth, on both sides of the Atlantic, peace existed nowhere except on
the paper signed at Ryswick; and in 1702 William saw that he must either
fight again, or submit to a union between France and Spain, Louis XIV.
becoming, by the death without issue of the Spanish king, sovereign of
both countries, to the upsetting of the European balance of power. Spain
had become a nonentity; she had no money, no navy, no commerce, no
manufactures, and a population reduced by emigration, and by the expulsion
of Jews and Moors, to about seven millions: nothing remained to her but
that "pride" of which she was always so solicitous, based as it was upon
her achievements as a robber, a murderer, a despot and a bigot. She now
had no king, which was the least of her losses, but gave her the power of
disturbing Europe by lapsing to the French Bourbons.

William himself was close to death, and died before the opening year of
the war was over. Louis was alive, and was to remain alive for thirteen
years longer; but he was sixty-four, was becoming weary and discouraged,
and had lost his ministers and generals. On the English side was
Marlborough; and the battle of Blenheim, not to speak of the European
combination against France, showed how the game was going. But the peace
of Utrecht in 1713, though it lasted thirty years, was not based on
justice, and could not stand. Spain was deprived of her possessions in the
Netherlands, but was allowed to keep her colonies, and the loss of
Gibraltar confirmed her hatred of England. Belgium, Antwerp and Austria
were wronged, and France was insulted by the destruction of Dunkirk
harbor. England embarked with her whole heart in the African slave trade,
securing the monopoly of importing negroes into the West Indies for thirty
years, and being the exclusive dealer in the same commodity along the
Atlantic coast. Half the stock in the business was owned by the English
people, and the other half was divided equally between Queen Anne and
Philip of Spain. The profits were enormous. Meanwhile the treaty between
Spain and England allowed and legitimatized the smuggling operations of
the latter in the West Indies, a measure which was sure to involve our
colonies sooner or later in the irrepressible conflict. England, again,
got Hudson's Bay, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, but not the Mississippi
valley, from France. Boundary lines were not accurately determined; and
could not be until the wars between 1744 and 1763 finally decided these
and other matters in England's favor. The most commendable clause in the
treaty was the one inserted by Bolingbroke that defined contraband, and
the rights of blockade, and laid down the rule that free ships should give
freedom to goods carried in them.

Anne, a daughter of James II., but a partisan of William, succeeded him
in 1702 at the age of thirty-seven; she was herself governed by the
Marlboroughs and Mrs. Mashamam--an intelligent woman of humble birth, who
became keeper of her majesty's privy purse. The war which the queen
inherited, and which was called by her name, lasted till the final year of
her reign. Only New England on the north and Carolina on the south were
participants in the fray on this side, and no great glory or advantage
accrued to either. New York was sheltered by the neutrality of the Five
Nations, and Pennsylvania, Virginia and the rest were beyond the reach of
French operations.

The force raised by South Carolina to capture St. Augustine had expected
to receive cannon for the siege from Jamaica; but the cannon failed them,
and they retreated with nothing to show but a debt which they liquidated
in paper. They had better luck with an expedition to sever the Spanish
line of communication with Louisiana; the Spanish and Indians were beaten
in December, 1705, and the neighboring inhabitants along the Gulf
emigrated to South Carolina. Then the French set out to take Charleston;
but the Huguenots were mindful of St. Bartholomew and of the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes, and they set upon the invaders when they landed, and
slew three out of every eight of them. The South Carolinians were let
alone thereafter.

In the north, the French secured the neutrality of the Senecas, but the
English failed to do the like with the Abenakis, and the massacring season
set in with marked severity on the Maine border in the summer of 1703. It
was in the ensuing winter that the Deerfield affair took place; the
crusted snow was so deep that it not only gave the French and Indian war
party good walking down from Canada, but enabled them to mount up the
drifts against the palisades of the town and leap down inside. The
sentinels were not on guard that morning, though, warned by the Mohawks,
the people had been looking for the attack all winter long. What is to be
said of these tragedies? When we have realized the awful pang in a
mother's heart, wakened from sleep by that shrill, triumphant yell of the
Indian, and knowing that in a moment she will see her children's faces
covered with the blood and brains from their crushed skulls, we shall have
nothing more to learn from Indian warfare. How many mothers felt that pang
in the pale dawn of that frosty morning in Deerfield? After the war party
had done the work, and departed exulting with their captives, how many
motionless corpses, in what ghastly attitudes, lay huddled in the darksome
rooms of the little houses, or were tossed upon the trodden snow without,
the looks of mortal agony frozen on their features? But you will hear the
howl of the wolves by-and-by; and the black bear will come shuffling and
sniffing through the broken doors; and when the frightful feast is over,
there will be, in place of these poses of death, only disordered heaps of
gnawed bones, and shreds of garments rent asunder, and the grin of
half-eaten skulls. Nothing else remains of a happy and innocent community.
Why were they killed? Had they harmed their killers? Was any military
advantage gained by their death?--They had harmed no one, and nothing was
gained, or pretended to be gained, by their murder: nothing except to
establish the principle that, since two countries in Europe were at war,
those emigrants of theirs who had voyaged hither in quest of peace and
happiness should lie in wait to destroy one another. Human sympathies
have, sometimes, strange ways of avouching themselves.

People become accustomed even to massacre. But the children born in these
years, who were themselves to be the fathers and mothers of the generation
of the Revolution, must have sucked in stern and fierce qualities with the
milk from their mothers' breasts. No one, even in the midst of
Massachusetts, was safe during that first decade of the Eighteenth
Century. A single Indian, in search of glory, would spend weeks in
creeping southward from the far border; he would await his chance long and
patiently; he would leap out, and strike, and vanish again, leaving that
silent horror behind him. Such deeds, and the constant possibility of
them, left their mark upon the whole population. They grew up familiar
with violent death in its most terrible forms. The effect of Indian
warfare upon the natures of those who engage in it, or are subjected to
its perils, is different from that of what we must call civilized
fighting. The end as well as the aim of the Indian's battle is death--a
scalp. Murder for the mere pleasure of murdering has an influence upon a
community far more sinister than that of death by war waged for
recognizable causes. The Puritans of the Eighteenth Century were another
people than those of the Seventeenth. There had been reason in the early
Indian struggles, when the savages might have hoped to exterminate the
settlers and leave their wilderness a wilderness once more; but there
could be no such hope now. The desire for revenge was awakened and
fostered as it had never been before. Many other circumstances combined to
modify the character of the people of New England during this century; but
perhaps this new capacity for revenge was not the least potent of the
influences that made the seven years of the Revolution possible.

Peter Schuyler protested in vain against the "savage and boundless
butchery" into which the conflict between "Christian princes, bound to the
exactest laws of honor and generosity," was degenerating; but the only way
to stop it appeared to be to extirpate the perpetrators; and to that end a
fifth part of the population were constantly in arms. The musket became
more familiar to their hands than the plow and spade; and their
marksmanship was near perfection. They gradually developed a system of
tactics of their own, foreign to the manuals. The first thing you were
aware of in the provincial soldier was the puff of smoke from the muzzle
of his weapon; almost simultaneously came the thud of his bullet in your
breast, or crashing through your brain. He loaded his gun lying on his
back beneath the ferns and shrubbery; he advanced or retreated invisibly,
from tree to tree. Your only means of estimating his numbers was from your
own losses. It was thus that the American troops afterward gained their
reputation of being almost invincible behind an intrenchment; it gave its
character to the engagements at Concord and along the Boston Road, and
sent hundreds of redcoats to death on the slopes of Bunker Hill. It was
not magnificent--to look at; but it was war; combined with the European
tactics acquired later on, it survived reverses that would have driven
other troops from the field, and, with Washington at the head, won our
independence at last.

The least revolting feature of the Indian warfare was the habit they
acquired, through French suggestion doubtless, of taking large numbers of
persons captive, and carrying them north. If they weakened on the journey,
they were of course tomahawked out of the way at once; but if they
survived, they were either sold as slaves to the Canadians, or were kept
by the Indians, who adopted them into their tribes, having no system of
slavery. Many a woman and little girl from New England became the mother
of Indian children; and when the captives were young enough at the
beginning, they generally grew to love the wild life too well to leave it.
Indeed, they were generally treated well by both the Canadians and the
Indians after they got to their destination. On the other hand, there were
the fathers and mothers and relatives of the lost planning their
redemption or rescue, and raising money to buy them back. Many a thrilling
tale could be told of these episodes. But we must imagine beautiful young
women, who had been taken away in childhood, found after years of
heart-breaking search and asked to return to their homes. What was their
home? They had forgotten New England, and those who loved them and had
sorrowed for them there. The eyes of these young women, clear and bright,
had a wildness in their look that is never seen in the children of
civilization; their faces were tanned by sun and breeze, their figures
lithe and athletic, their dress of deerskin and wampum, their light feet
clad in moccasins; their tongues and ears were strange to the language of
their childhood homes. No: they would not return. Sometimes, curiosity, or
a vague expectation, would induce them to revisit those who yearned for
them; but, having arrived, they received the embraces of their own flesh
and blood shyly and coldly; they were stifled and hampered by the houses,
the customs, the ordered ways of white people's existence. A night must
come when they would arise silently, resume with a deep in-breathing of
delight the deerskin raiment, and be gone without one last loving look at
the faces of those who had given them life, but from whom their souls were
forever parted. There is a harrowing mystery in these estrangements: how
strong, and yet how helpless is the human heart; all the world cannot
break the bonds it ties, nor can all the world tie them again, once the
heart itself has dissolved them.

Thus, in more ways than one, the blood of the English colonists became
wedded to the soil of the wilderness, if wilderness the settlements could
now be called. And they became like the captives we have just been
imagining, who cared no longer for the land and the people that had been
their home. Not more because they were estranged by England's behavior
than because they had formed new attachments beside which the old ones
seemed pale, were they now able to contemplate with composure the idea of
a final separation. America was no longer England's daughter. She had
acquired a life of her own, and could look forward to a destiny which the
older country could never share. The ways of the two had parted more fully
than either, as yet, quite realized; and if they were ever to meet
again hereafter, it must be the older, and not the younger, who must
change.

Apart from the Indian episodes, little was done until 1710, when a large
fleet left Boston and again captured Port Royal, to which the name of
Annapolis was given as a compliment to the snuffy little woman who sat on
the English throne. This success was made the basis of a proposition to
put an end to the development of the French settlements west of the
Alleghanies. It was represented to the English government that the entire
Indian population in the west was being amalgamated with the French; the
Jesuits ensnaring them on the spiritual side, and the intermarrying system
on the other. The English Secretary of State was Bolingbroke--or
Saint-John as he was then--a man of three and thirty, brilliant, graceful,
gifted, versatile; but without principle or constancy, who never
emancipated his superb intellect from his restless and sensuous nature.
After hearing what the American envoys had to say, and thinking the matter
over, Saint-John made up his mind that it could do no harm, as a
beginning, to capture Quebec; and that being safe in English hands, the
rest of the programme could be finished at leisure. Seven regiments of
Marlborough's veterans, the best soldiers in the world at that time, a
battalion of marines, and fifteen men-of-war, were intrusted to the
utterly incompetent and preposterous Hovenden Walker, with the not less
absurd Jack Hill, brother of Mrs. Masham, as second in command. In short,
the expedition was what would now be called a "job" for the favorites and
hangers-on of the Court; the taking of the Canadian fortress was deemed so
easy a feat that even fools and Merry-Andrews could accomplish it. The
Americans had meantime made their preparations to co-operate with this
imposing armada; an army of colonists and Iroquois were at Albany, ready
for a dash on Montreal. But week after week passed away, and the fleet,
having got to Boston, seemed unable to get away from it. No doubt
Hovenden, Hill and the rest of the rabble were enjoying themselves in the
Puritan capital. The Boston of stern-visaged, sad-garmented,
scripture-quoting men and women, of unpaved streets and mean houses, was
gone; Boston in the first quarter of the Eighteenth Century was a city--a
place of gayety, fashion and almost luxury. The scarlet coats of the
British officers made the narrow but briskly-moving streets brilliant; but
even without them, the embroidered coats, silken small clothes and clocked
stockings, powdered wigs and cocked hats of the fine gentlemen, and the
wide hoops and imposing head-dresses of the women, made a handsome show.
People of many nationalities mingled in the throng, for commerce had
brought the world in all its various forms to the home of the prayers of
Winthrop and Higginson; the royal governors maintained a fitting state,
and traveled Americans, then as now, brought back with them from Europe
the freshest ideas of modishness and style. There were folk of quality
there, personages of importance and dignity, forming an inner aristocratic
circle who conversed of London and the Court, and whose august society it
was the dear ambition of the lesser lights to ape, if they could not join
it. Democratic manners were at a discount in these little hotbeds of
amateur cockneyism; the gloomy severities of the old-fashioned religion
were put aside; there was an increasing gap between the higher and the
lower orders of the population. This appearance was no doubt superficial;
and the beau-monde is never so numerous as its conspicuousness leads one
to imagine. When the rumblings of the Revolutionary earthquake began to
make themselves heard in earnest, the gingerbread aristocracy came
tumbling down in a hurry, and the old, invincible spirit, temporarily
screened by the waving of scented handkerchiefs, the flutter of fans, and
the swish of hoop-skirts, made itself once more manifest and dominant. But
that epoch was still far off; for the present court was paid to Hovenden
and his officers; and the British coffee-house in King Street was a noble
sight.

What bottles of wine those warriors drank, what snuff they took, what
long pipes they smoked, how they swore and ruffled, and what tales they
told of Marlborough and the wars! The British army swore frightfully in
Flanders, and in King Street, too. There, also, they read the news in the
newspapers of the day, and discussed matters of high policy and strategy,
while the civilians listened with respectful admiration. And see how that
dapper young officer seated in the window arches his handsome eyebrows and
smirks as two pretty Boston girls go by! Yes, it is no wonder that the
British fleet needed a long time to refit in Boston harbor, before going
up to annihilate those French jumping-jacks on the banks of the St.
Lawrence. "La, Captain, I hope you won't get hurt!" says pretty Miss
Betty, with her white wig and her beauty spots; and that heroic young
gentleman lifts her hand to his lips, and swears deeply that, for a glance
from her bright eyes, he would go forth and capture Quebec single-handed.

While these dalliances were in progress, the French jumping-jacks were
putting things in order to receive their expected guests in a becoming
manner. They held a great pow-wow of representatives of Indian tribes from
all parts of the seat of the projected war, and bound them by compacts to
their assistance. Everybody, even the women, worked on the fortifications,
or on anything that might aid in the common defense. Before the end of
August, at which time the outlookers reported signs of a fleet of near a
hundred sail, flying the British flag, all was ready for them in the
French strongholds. So now let the mighty combat begin.

But it was not to come this time: the era of William Pitt and General
Wolfe was nearly half a century distant. The latter would not be born for
sixteen years, and the former was a pap-eating babe of three. Meanwhile
the redoubtable Hovenden was snoring in bed, while his fleet was
struggling in a dense fog at night, being driven on the shoals of the Egg
Islands near the mouth of the St. Lawrence. "For the Lord's sake, come on
deck!" roars Captain Goddard, thrusting his head into the cabin for the
second time, "or we shall all be lost!" Thus adjured, the old imbecile
huddles on his dressing gown and slippers, and finds himself, sure enough,
close on a lee shore. He made shift to get his own vessel out of harm's
way, but eight others went down, and near nine hundred men were drowned.
"Impossible to go on," was the vote of the council of war the next
morning; and "It's all for the best," added this remarkable admiral; "for
had we got to Quebec, ten or twelve thousand of us must have perished of
cold and hunger; Providence took eight hundred to save the rest!"

So back they went, with their tails between their legs, without having
had a glimpse of the citadel which they were to have captured without an
effort; and of course the army waiting at Albany for the word to advance
got news of a different color, and Montreal was as safe as Quebec. In the
west, the Foxes, having planned an attack on Detroit, did really lay siege
to it; but Du Buisson, who defended it, summoned a swarm of Indian allies
to his aid, and the Foxes found that the boot was on the other leg; they
were all either slain or carried into slavery. Down in the Carolinas, a
party of Tuscaroras attacked a settlement of Palatines near Pamlico Sound,
and wiped them out; and some Huguenots at Bath fared little better.
Disputes between the governor and the burgesses prevented aid from
Virginia; but Barnwell of South Carolina succeeded in making terms with
the enemy. A desultory and exhausting warfare continued however,
complicated with an outbreak of yellow fever, and it was not until 1713
that the Tuscaroras were driven finally out of the country, and were
incorporated with the Iroquois in the north. The war in Europe had by that
time come also to an end, and the treaty of Utrecht brought about an
ambiguous peace for a generation.

George I. now became king of England; because he was the son of Sophia,
granddaughter of James I., and professed the Protestant religion. He was a
Hanoverian German, and did not understand the English language; he was
stupid and disreputable, and better fitted to administer a German
bierstube than a great kingdom. But the Act of Settlement of 1701 had
stipulated that if William or Anne died childless, the Protestant issue of
Sophia should succeed. That such a man should prove an acceptable
sovereign both to Great Britain and her American colonies, showed that the
individuality on the throne had become secondary to the principles which
he stood for; besides, George profited by the easy, sagacious,
good-humored leadership of that unprincipled but common-sensible
man-of-the-world, Sir Robert Walpole, who was prime minister from 1715 to
1741, with an interval of only a couple of years. Walpole's aim was to
avoid wars and develop commerce and manufactures; and while he lived, the
colonies enjoyed immunity from conflicts with the French and Spanish.

They were not to forget the use of arms, however; for the Indians were
inevitably encroached upon by the expanding white population, and resented
it in the usual way. In 1715 the Yemasses began a massacre on the Carolina
borders; they were driven off by Charles Craven, after the colonists had
lost four hundred men. The proprietors had given no help in the war, and
after it was over, the colony renounced allegiance to them, and the
English government supported their revolt, regarding it in the light of an
act of loyalty to George. Francis Nicholson, a governor by profession, and
of great experience in that calling, was appointed royal governor, and
made peace with the tribes; and in 1729 the crown bought out the claims of
the proprietors. North Carolina, without a revolt, enjoyed the benefits
obtained by their southern brethren. The Cherokees became a buffer against
the encroachments of the French from the west.

In the north, meanwhile, the Abenakis, in sympathy with the French,
claimed the region between the Kennebec and the St. Croix, and applied to
the French for assistance. Sebastian Rasles, a saintly Jesuit priest and
Indian missionary, had made his abode at Norridgwock on the Kennebec; he
was regarded by Massachusetts as an instigator of the enemy. They seized
his post, he escaping for the time; the Indians burned Brunswick; but in
1723 Westbrooke with a company of hardy provincials, who knew more of
Indian warfare than the Indians themselves, attacked an Indian fort near
the present Bangor and destroyed it; the next year Norridgwock was
surprised, and Rasles slain. He met his death with the sublime
cheerfulness and courage which were the badge of his order. French
influence in northeastern Massachusetts was at an end, and John Lovewell,
before he lost his life by an ambush of Saco Indians at Battle Brook, had
made it necessary for the Indians to sue for peace. Commerce took the
place of religion as a subjugating force, and an era of prosperity began
for the northeastern settlements.

There was no settled boundary between northern New York and the French
regions. Each party used diplomatic devices to gain advantage. Both built
trading stations on doubtful territory, which developed into forts. Burnet
of New York founded Oswego in 1727, and gained a strip of land from the
Iroquois; France built a fort on Lake Champlain in 1731. Six years before
that, they had established, by the agency of the sagacious trader
Joncaire, a not less important fort at Niagara. Upon the whole, the French
gained the better of their rivals in these negotiations.

Louisiana, as the French possessions, or claims, south of Canada were
called, was meanwhile bidding fair to cover most of the continent west of
the Alleghanies and north of the indeterminate Spanish region which
overspread the present Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California and Mexico.
No boundary lines could be run in those enormous western expanses; and it
made little practical difference whether a given claim lay a thousand
miles this way or that. But on the east it was another matter. The French
pursued their settled policy of conciliating the Indians wherever they
hoped to establish themselves; but though this was well, it was not
enough. Narrow though the English strip of territory was, the inhabitants
greatly outnumbered the French, and were correspondingly more wealthy.
Spotswood of Virginia, in 1710, was for pushing out beyond the mountains,
and Logan of Pennsylvania also called Walpole's attention to the troubles
ahead; but the prime minister would take no action. On the other hand, the
white population of Louisiana was ridiculously small, and their trade
nothing worth mentioning; but when Anthony Crozar resigned the charter he
had received for the district, it was taken up by the famous John Law, the
English goldsmith's son, who had become chief financial adviser of the
Regent of France; and immediately the face of things underwent a change
like the magic transformations of a pantomime.

The Regent inherited from Louis XIV. a debt which there was not money
enough in all France to pay. Law had a plan to pay it by the issue of
paper. Louisiana offered itself as just the thing for purposes of
investment, and a pretext for the issue of unlimited "shares." Not to
speak of the gold and silver, there was unlimited wealth in the unknown
country, and Law assumed that it could be produced at once. Companies were
formed, and thousands of settlers rushed to the promised paradise. But we
have to do with the Mississippi Bubble only as it affected America. The
Bubble burst, but the settlers remained, and were able to prosper, in
moderation, like other settlers in a fertile country. A great area of land
was occupied. Local tribes of Indians joined in a massacre of the
colonists in 1729. They in turn were nearly exterminated by the French
forces during the next two years, but the war aroused a new hostility
among the red tribes against the French, which redounded to the English
advantage. In 1740, Bienville was more than willing to make a peace, which
left to France no more than nominal control of the tract of country
drained by the southern twelve hundred miles of the Mississippi. The
population, after all the expense and efforts of half a century, numbered
about five thousand white persons, with upward of two thousand slaves. The
horse is his who rides it. The French had not proved themselves as good
horsemen as the English. The English colonies had at the same time a
population of about half a million; their import and export trade
aggregated nearly four million dollars; they had a wide and profitable
trade; and the only thing they could complain of was the worthless or
infamous character of the majority of the officials which the shameless
corruption of the Walpole administration sent out to govern--in other
words, to prey upon--them. But if this was the only subject of complaint,
it could not be termed a small subject. It meant the enforcement of the
Navigation Acts in their worst form, and the restriction of all manner of
manufactures. Manufactures would tend to make the colonies set up for
themselves, and therefore they must be forbidden:--such was the
undisguised argument. It was a case of the goose laying golden eggs.
America had in fact become so enormously valuable that England wanted it
to become profit and nothing else--and all the profit to be England's.
They still failed to realize that it was inhabited by human beings, and
that those human beings were of English blood. And because the northern
colonies, though the more industrious, produced things which might
interfere with British goods, therefore they were held down more than the
southern colonies, which grew only tobacco, sugar, rice and indigo, which
could in no degree interfere with the sacred shopkeepers and mill-owners
of England. An insanity of blindness and perversity seized upon the
English government, and upon most of the people; they actually were
incapable of seeing justice, or even their own best interests. It seems
strange to us now; but it was a mania, like that of witchcraft, though it
lasted thrice as many years as that did months.

The will of England in respect of the colonies became as despotic as
under the Stuarts; but though it delayed progress, it could not break down
the resistance of the assemblies; and Walpole would consent to no
suggestion looking toward enforcing it by arms. Stamp duties were spoken
of, but not enacted. The governors raged and complained, but the
assemblies held the purse-strings. Would-be tyrants like Shute of Boston
might denounce woe, and Crosby of New York bellow treason, but they were
fain to succumb. Paper money wrought huge mischief, but nothing could
prevent the growing power and wealth of the colonies, fed, also, by the
troubles in Europe. In 1727 the Irish, always friends of liberty, began to
arrive in large numbers. But what was of better augury than all else was
the birth of two men, one in Virginia, the other in Boston. The latter was
named Benjamin Franklin: the former, George Washington.



CHAPTER ELEVENTH

QUEM JUPITER VULT PERDERE


There are times when, upon nations as upon individuals, there comes a
wave of evil tendency, which seems to them not evil, but good. Under its
influence they do and think things which afterward amaze them in the
retrospect. But such ill seasons are always balanced by the presence and
opposition of those who desire good, whether from selfish or altruistic
motives. And since good alone has a root, connecting it with the eternal
springs of life, therefore in the end it prevails, and the movement of the
race is on the whole, and in the lapse of time, toward better conditions.

England, during the Eighteenth Century, came under the influence of a
selfish spirit which could not but lead her toward disaster, though at the
time it seemed as if it promoted only prosperity and power. She thought
she could strengthen her own life by restricting the natural enterprise
and development of her colonies: that she could subsist by sucking human
blood. She believed that by compelling the produce of America to flow
toward herself alone, and by making America the sole recipient of her own
manufactures, she must be immeasurably and continually benefited; not
perceiving that the colonies could never reach the full limit of their
productiveness unless freedom were conceded to all the impulses of their
energy, or that the greater the number of those nations who were allowed
freely to supply colonial wants, the greater those wants would become.
Moreover, selfishness is never consistent, because it does not respect the
selfishness of others; and England, at the same time that she was
maintaining her own trade monopolies, was illicitly undermining the
similar monopolies of other nations. She promoted smuggling in the Spanish
West Indies, and made might right in all her dealings with foreign
peoples. The assiento--the treaty giving her exclusive right to supply the
West Indian islands with African slaves--was actively carried out, and the
slave-trade reached enormous proportions; it is estimated that from three
to nine millions of Africans were imported into the American and Spanish
colonies during the first half of the Eighteenth Century, yielding a
revenue for their importation alone of at least four hundred million
dollars. But the profit did not end there; for their labor on the
plantations in the southern colonies (where alone they could be used in
appreciable numbers) multiplied the production and diminished the cost of
the articles of commerce which those colonies raised. There were
individuals, almost from the beginning, who objected to slavery on grounds
of abstract morality; and others who held that a converted African should
cease to be a slave. But these opinions did not impress the bulk of the
people; and laws were passed classing negroes with merchandise. "The trade
is very beneficial to the country" was the stereotyped reply to all
humanitarian arguments. The cruelties of transportation in small vessels
were regarded as an unavoidable, if disagreeable, necessity; it was
pointed out that the masters of slaves would be prompted by self-interest
to treat them well after they were landed; and it was obvious that
negroes, after a generation of captivity, were less remote from
civilization than when fresh from Africa.

The good to balance this ill was supplied by the American colonies. Their
resistance to English selfishness may have been in part animated by
selfishness of their own; but it none the less had justice and right
behind it. In any argument on fundamental principles, the colonists always
had the better of it. Their rights as free men and as chartered
communities were indefeasible, were always asserted, and never given up.
They did not hesitate to disregard the more unjust of England's exactions
and restrictions; it was only by such defiance that they maintained their
life. And against the importation of slaves there was a general feeling,
even among the Southern planters; because, not to speak of other
considerations, they multiplied there to an alarming extent, and the fact
that they cheapened production and lowered prices was manifestly as
unwelcome to the planters as it was favorable to English traders.

But in order to be effective, the protest of a people--their
enlightenment, their virtue and patriotism, their courage and philosophy,
their firmness and self-reliance, their hatred of shams, dishonesty and
tyranny--must be embodied and summed up in certain individuals among them,
who may thus be recognized by the community as their representatives in
the fullest sense, and therefore as their natural champions and leaders.
America has never lacked such men, adapted to her need; and at this period
they were coming to maturity as Franklin and Washington. They will be with
us during the critical hours of our formative history, and we shall have
opportunity to measure their characters. Meanwhile there is another good
man deserving of passing attention; not born on our soil, but meriting to
be called, in the best sense, an American. In the midst of a corrupt and
self-seeking age, he was unselfish and pure; and while many uttered pretty
sentiments of philanthropy, and devised fanciful Utopias for the
transfiguration of the human race, he went to work with his hands and
purse as well as with his heart and head, and created a home and happiness
for unhappy and unfortunate people in one of the loveliest and most
fertile spots in the western world. If he was not as wise as Penn, he was
as kind; and if his colony did not succeed precisely as he had planned it
should, at any rate it became a happy and prosperous settlement, which
would not have existed but for him. He had not fully fathomed the truth
that in order to bestow upon man the best chance for earthly felicity, we
must, after having provided him with the environment and the means for it,
let him alone to work it out in his own way. But he had such magnanimity
that when he found that his carefully-arranged and detailed schemes were
inefficient, he showed no resentment, and did not try to enforce what had
seemed to him expedient, against the wishes of his beneficiaries; but
retired amiably and with dignity, and thus merited the purest gratitude
that men may properly accord to a man.

James Edward Oglethorpe was already five years old when the Eighteenth
Century began. He was a Londoner by birth, and had a fortune which he did
not misuse. He was a valiant soldier against the Turks; he was present
with Prince Eugene at the capitulation of Belgrade; and he sat for more
than thirty years in Parliament. He died at the age of ninety; though
there is a portrait of him extant said to have been taken when he was one
hundred and two. If long life be the reward of virtue, he deserved to
survive at least a century.

The speculative fever in England had brought about much poverty; and
debtors were lodged in jail in order, one might suppose, to prevent them
from taking any measures to liquidate their debts. Besides these unhappy
persons, there were many Protestants on the Continent who were persecuted
for their faith's sake. England compassionated these persons, having
learned by experience what persecution is; and did not offer any objection
to a scheme for improving the lot of debtors in her own land, if any
feasible one could be devised.

General Oglethorpe had devised one. He was then, according to our
reckoning, a mature man of about seven-and-thirty; he had visited the
prisons, and convinced himself that there was neither political economy
nor humanity in this method of preserving the impecunious class. Why not
take them to America? Why not found a new colony there where men might
dwell in peace and comfort, with the aim not of amassing wealth, but of
living sober and useful lives? On the southern side of South Carolina
there was a region fitted for such an enterprise, which, owing to its
proximity to the Spanish colony at St. Augustine, had been vexed by border
quarrels; but Oglethorpe, with his military experience, would be able to
keep the Spaniards in their place with one hand, while he was planting
gardens for his proteges with the other. Thus his colony would be useful
on grounds of high policy, as well as for its own ends. And in order
additionally to conciliate the good will of the home government,
controlled as it was by mercantile interests chiefly, the silk-worm should
be cultivated there, and England thus saved the duties on the Italian
fabrics. Should there be slaves in the new Eden?--On all accounts, No:
first because slavery was intrinsically wrong, and secondly because it
would lead to idleness, if not to wealth, among the colonists. For the
same reason, land could only pass to the eldest son, or failing male
issue, back to the state; if permission were given to divide it, or to
sell it, there would soon be great landed properties and an aristocracy.
Nor should the importation of rum be permitted, for if men have rum, they
are prone to drink it, and drunkenness was incompatible with the kind of
existence which the good General wished his colonists to lead. In a word,
by removing temptations to vice and avarice, he thought he could make his
people forget that such evils had ever belonged to human nature. But
experiments founded upon the innate impeccability of man have furnished
many comedies and not a few tragedies since the world began.

The Oglethorpe idea, however, appealed to the public, and became a sort
of fashionable fad. It was commended, and after Parliament had voted ten
thousand pounds toward it, it was everywhere accepted as the correct
thing. The charter was given in June, 1732, and a suitable design was not
wanting for the corporation seal--silkworms, with the motto, Non Sibi, sed
Aliis. This might refer either to the colonists or to the patrons, since
the latter were to receive no emoluments for their services, and the
former were to work for the sake, in part at least, of vindicating the
nobility of labor. It is true that the silkworm is an involuntary and
unconscious altruist; but we must allow some latitude in symbols; and
besides, all executive and legislative power was given to the trustees, or
such council as they might choose to appoint.

In November the general conducted his hundred or more human derelicts to
Port Royal, and, going up the stream, chose the site for his city of
Savannah, and laid it out in liberal parallelograms. While it was building
he tented beneath a quartette of primeval pines, and exchanged friendly
greetings and promises with the various Indian tribes who sent deputies to
him. A year from that time, the German Protestant refugees began to
arrive, and started a town of their own further inland. A party of
Moravians followed; and the two Wesleys aided to introduce an exalted
religious sentiment which might have recalled the days of the Pilgrims.
For the present, all went harmoniously; the debtors were thankful to be
out of prison; the religious folk were happy so long as they might wreak
themselves on their religion; and the silk-culture paid a revenue so long
as England paid bounties on it. But the time must come when the colonists
would demand to do what they liked with their own land, and other things;
when they would import rum by stealth and hardly blush to be found out;
when some of the less democratically-minded decided that there were
advantages in slaves after all; and when some of the more independent
declared they could not endure oppression, and migrated to other colonies.
After struggling a score of years against the inevitable, the trustees
surrendered their trusteeship, and the colony came under the management of
the Second George. Oglethorpe had long ere this retired to England, after
having kept his promise of reducing the Spaniards to order; and at his
home at Cranham Hall in Essex he continued to be the friend of man until
after the close of the American Revolution.

The war with Spain, of which Oglethorpe's unsuccessful attack upon St.
Augustine and triumphant defense of his own place was but a very minor
feature, raged for a while in the West Indies with no very marked
advantage to either contestant, and then drew the other nations of Europe
into the fray. Nothing creditable was being fought for on either side.
England, to be sure, had declared war with the object of expunging Spain
from America; but it had been only in order that she herself might replace
Spain there as a monopolist. France came in to prevent England from
enjoying this monopoly. The death of the Austrian king and a consequent
dispute as to the succession added that power to the melee. Russia
received an invitation to join, and this finally led to the Peace of Aix
La Chapelle in 1748, which replaced all things in dispute just where they
were before innumerable lives and enormous treasure had been expended. But
the Eighteenth was a fighting Century, for it was the transition period
from the old to the new order of civilized life.

The part borne by the American colonies in this struggle was quite
subordinate and sympathetic; but it was not the less interesting to the
Americans. In 1744 the Six Nations (as the Five had been called since the
accession of the Tuscaroras) made a treaty of alliance with the English
whereby the Ohio valley was secured to the latter as against the French--
so far, that is, as the Indians could secure it. But the Pennsylvanians
understood that more than Indian treaties would be needed against France,
and as their country was likely to be among the first involved, they
determined to raise money and men for the campaign. There were, of course,
men in Pennsylvania who were not of the Quaker way of thinking; but even
the Quakers forbore to oppose the measure, and many of them gave it
explicit approval. The incident gains its chief interest however from the
fact that the man most active and efficient in getting both the funds and
the soldiers was Benjamin Franklin, the Boston boy, in whose veins flowed
the blood of both Quaker and Calvinist, but who was himself of far too
original a character to be either. He was at this epoch just past forty,
and had been a resident of Philadelphia for some twenty years, and a
famous printer, writer, and man of mark. He hit upon the scheme--which,
like so many of his, was more practical than orthodox--of persuading
dollars out of men's pockets by means of a lottery. He knew that, whatever
a fastidious morality might protest, lotteries are friendly to human
nature; and if there be any part of human nature with which Franklin was
unacquainted, it has not yet been announced. Having got the money, his
next care was for the men; and his plans resulted in assembling an
organized force of ten or twelve thousand militiamen. But the energy and
ingenuity of this incomparable Franklin of ours could be equaled only by
his modesty; he would not accept a colonelcy, but shouldered his musket
along with the rank and file; and doubtless the company to which he
belonged forgot the labors of war in their enjoyment of his wit, humor,
anecdotes, parables, and resources of all kinds.

After so much waste and folly as had marked the conduct of the war in
Europe, it is good to hear the tale of the capture of Louisburg. It was an
adventure which gave the colonists merited confidence in themselves, and
the character of the little army, and the management of the campaign, were
an excellent and suggestive dress rehearsal of the great drama of thirty
years later. The army was a combination of Yankees with arms in their
hands to effect an object eminently conducive to the common welfare. For
Louisburg was the key to the St. Lawrence, it commanded the fisheries, and
it threatened Acadia, or rather Nova Scotia, which was inhabited chiefly
by Bretons, liable to afford succor to their belligerent brethren. The
fort had been built, after the close of the former war, by those who had
preferred not to live under the government of the House of Hanover, on the
eastern extremity of the island called Cape Breton, itself lying northeast
of the Nova Scotian promontory. The site was good for defense, and the
fortifications, scientifically designed, were held to be impregnable. Had
Louisburg rested content with being strong, it might have been allowed to
remain at peace; but at the beginning of the war, and before the frontier
people in Nova Scotia had heard of it, a French party swooped down from
Louisburg on the settlement at Canso (the gut between Cape Breton and Nova
Scotia), destroyed all that was destructible, and carried eighty men as
prisoners of war to their stronghold. After keeping them there during the
summer, these men were paroled and went to Boston. This was a mistake on
the Louisburgers' part; for the men had made themselves well acquainted
with the fortifications and the topography of the neighborhood, and placed
this useful information at the disposal of William Shirley, a lawyer of
ability, who was afterward governor of the colony, and a warrior of some
note. It was Shirley's opinion that Louisburg must be taken, and the idea
immediately became popular. It was the main topic of discussion in Boston,
and all over New England, during the autumn and winter; Massachusetts
decided that it could be done, and that she could do it, though the help
of other colonies would be gladly accepted. Yet the feeling was not
unanimous, if the vote of the legislature be a criterion; the bill passed
there by a majority of one. Be that as it may, once resolved upon, the
enterprise was pushed with ardor, not unmingled with prayer--the old
Puritan leaven reappearing as soon as deeds of real moment were in the
wind. In every village and hamlet there was excitement and preparation
--the warm courage of men glad to have a chance at the hated fortress, and
the pale bravery of women keeping down the heavy throbbing of their hearts
so that their sons and husbands might feel no weakness for their sakes.
The fishermen of Marblehead, used to face the storms and fogs of the
Newfoundland Banks; the farmers and mechanics, who could hit a Bay
shilling (if one could be found in that era of paper money) at fifty
paces; and the hunters, who knew the craft of the Indians and were inured
to every fatigue and hardship--finer material for an army was never got
together before: independent, bold, cunning, handy, inventive, full of
resource; but utterly ignorant of drill, and indifferent to it. Their
officers were chosen by themselves, of the same rank and character as
they; their only uniforms were their flintlocks and hangers. They marched
and camped as nature prompted, but they had common-sense developed to the
utmost by the exigencies of their daily lives, and they created, simply by
being together, a discipline and tactics of their own; they even learned
enough of the arts of fortification and intrenchment, during the siege, to
serve all their requirements. They had the American instinct to break
loose from tradition and solve problems from an original point of view;
they laughed at the jargon and technicalities of conventional war, but
they had their own passwords, and they understood one another in and out.
The carpenters and other mechanics among them carried their skill along,
and were ever ready to put it in practice for the general behoof. Most of
them left wives and children at home; but "Suffer no anxious thoughts to
rest in your mind about me," writes his wife to Seth Pomeroy, who had sent
word to her that he was "willing to stay till God's time comes to deliver
the city into our hands":--"I leave you in the hands of God," added she;
and subjoined, by way of village gossip, that "the whole town is much
engaged with concern for the expedition, how Providence will order the
affair, for which religious meetings every week are maintained." We can
imagine those meetings, held in the village meeting-house, with an infirm
old veteran of King William's War to lead in prayer, and the benches
occupied by the women, devout but spirited, with the little children by
their sides. What hearty prayers: what sighs irrepressibly heaving those
brave, tender bosoms; what secret tears, denied by smiles when the face
was lifted from the clasping hands! Righteous prayers, which were
fulfilled.

Over three thousand men went from Massachusetts alone; New Hampshire
added five hundred, and more than that number arrived from Connecticut,
after the rest had gone into camp at Canso. The three hundred from little
Rhode Island came too late. Other colonies sent rations and money. But the
four thousand were enough, with Pepperel of Kittery for commander, and a
good cause. They set out alone while the Cape Breton ice still filled the
harbors; for Commodore Warren of the English fleet at Antigua would not go
except by order from England--which, however, came soon afterward, so that
he and his ships joined them after all before hostilities began. The
expedition first set eyes on their objective point on the day before May
day, 1745.

The fortress bristled with guns of all sizes, and the walls were of
enormous thickness, so that no cannon belonging to the besiegers could
hope to make a breach in them. But the hearts of the garrison were less
stout than their defenses; and when four hundred cheering volunteers
approached a battery on shore, the Frenchmen spiked their guns and ran
away.

The siege lasted six weeks, with unusually fine weather. In the intervals
of attacks upon the island battery, which resisted them, the men hunted,
fished, played rough outdoor games, and kept up their spirits; and they
pounded Louisburg gates with their guns; but no advantage was gained; and
a night-attack, in the Indian style, was discovered prematurely, and
nearly two hundred men were killed or captured. Finally, there seemed to
be nothing for it but to escalade the walls, Warren--who had done nothing
thus far except prevent relief from approaching by sea--bombarding the
city meanwhile. It hardly seems possible the attempt could have succeeded;
at best, the losses would have been enormous. But at the critical moment,
depressed, perhaps, by having witnessed the taking of an incautious French
frigate which had tried to run the blockade, what should the French
commander do but hang out a white flag! Yes, the place had capitulated!
The gates that could not be hammered in with cannon-balls were thrown
open, and in crowded the Yankee army, laughing, staring, and thanking the
Lord of Hosts for His mercies. Truly, it was like David overcoming
Goliath, without his sling. It was a great day for New England; and on the
same day thirty years later the British redcoats fell beneath the volleys
on Bunker Hill.

The French tried to recapture the place next year, but storms, pestilence
and other disasters prevented; and the only other notable incident of the
war was the affair of Commander Knowles at Boston in 1747. He was anchored
off Nantasket with a squadron, when some of his tars deserted, as was not
surprising, considering the sort of commander he was, and the charms of
the famous town. Knowles, ignorant of the spirit of a Boston mob,
impressed a number of wharfmen and seamen from vessels in the harbor; he
had done the same thing before in England, and why not here? But the mob
was on fire at once, and after the timid governor had declined to seize
such of the British naval officers as were in the town, the crowd,
terrible in its anger, came thundering down King Street and played the
sheriff for itself. The hair of His Majesty's haughty commanders and
lieutenants must have crisped under their wigs when they looked out of the
windows of the coffee-house and saw them. In walks the citizens'
deputation, with scant ceremony: protests are unavailing: off to jail His
Majesty's officers must straightway march, leaving their bottles of wine
half emptied, and their chairs upset on the sawdusted floor; and in jail
must they abide, until those impressed Bostonians have been liberated. It
was a wholesome lesson; and among the children who ran and shouted beside
the procession to the prison were those who, when they were men grown,
threw the tea into Boston Harbor.

In 1748 the Peace was made, and the Duke of Newcastle, a flighty, trivial
and faithless creature, gave place to the strict, honest, and narrow Duke
of Bedford as Secretary of the Colonies. The colonies had been under the
charge of the Board of Commissioners, who could issue what orders they
chose, but had no power to enforce them; and as the colonial assemblies
slighted their commands except when it pleased them to do otherwise, much
exasperation ensued on the Commissioners' part. The difficulties would
have been minimized had it not been the habit of Newcastle to send out as
colonial officials the offscourings of the British aristocracy: and when a
British aristocrat is worthless, nothing can be more worthless than he.
The upshot of the situation was that the colonists did what they pleased,
regardless of orders from home; while yet the promulgation of those
orders, aiming to defend injustices and iniquities, kept up a chronic and
growing disaffection toward England. So it had been under Newcastle, who
had uniformly avoided personal annoyance by omitting to read the constant
complaints of the Commissioners; but Bedford was a man of another stamp,
fond of business, granite in his decisions, and resolved to be master in
his department. It was easy to surmise that his appointment would hasten
the drift of things toward a crisis. England would not tamely relinquish
her claim to absolute jurisdiction over her colonies. But the bulwarks of
popular liberty were rising in America, and every year saw them
strengthened and more ably manned. English legislative opposition only
defined and solidified the colonial resistance. What was to be the result?
There would be no lack of English statesmen competent to consider it; men
like Pitt, Murray and Townshend were already above the horizon of history.
But it was not by statesmanship that the issue was to be decided. Man is
proud of his intellect; but it is generally observable that it is the
armed hand that settles the political problems of the world.

There were in the colonies men of ability, and of consideration, who were
traitors to the cause of freedom. Such were Thomas Hutchinson, a plausible
hypocrite, not devoid of good qualities, but intent upon filling his
pockets from the public purse; Oliver, a man of less ability but equal
avarice; and William Shirley, the scheming lawyer from England, who had
made America his home in order to squeeze a living out of it. These men
went to England to promote the passage of a law insuring a regular revenue
for the civil list from the colonists, independent of the latter's
approval; the immediate pretext being that money was needed to protect the
colonies against French encroachments. The several assemblies refused to
consent to such a tax; and the question was then raised whether Parliament
had not the right to override the colonists' will. Lord Halifax, the First
Commissioner, was urgent in favor of the proposition; he was an ignorant,
arbitrary man, who laid out a plan for the subjugation of the colonies as
lightly and willfully as he might have directed the ditch-digging and
fence-building on his estates. Murray, afterward Lord Mansfield, held that
Parliament had the requisite power; but in the face of the united protest
of the colonies, that body laid the measure aside for the present.
Meanwhile the conditions of future trouble were preparing in the Ohio
Valley, where French and English were making conflicting claims and
planting rival stations; and in Nova Scotia, where the town of Halifax was
founded in an uninviting fir forest, and the project was mooted of
transporting the French Acadians to some place or places where they would
cease to constitute a peril by serving as a stage for French machinations
against the English rule.

Another and final war with France was already appearing inevitable; the
colonists must bear a hand in it, but they also were at odds with England
herself on questions vital to their prosperity and happiness. In the
welter of events of the next few years we find a mingling of conditions
deliberately created (with a view, on England's part, of checking the
independent tendencies of the Americans and of forcing tribute from them)
and of unforeseen occurrences due to fortuitous causes beyond the
calculation and control of persons in power. Finally, the declaration of
war against France in 1756--though it had unofficially existed at least
two years before--and its able management by the great Pitt, enabled
England to dictate a peace in 1763 giving her all she asked for in Europe
and the East, and the whole of the French possessions in America, besides
islands in the West Indies. Her triumph was great; but she did not foresee
(though a few acute observers did) that this great conquest would within a
few years fall into the hands of the colonists, making them potentially
the greatest of nations. At the era of the Revolution, the white
inhabitants in the colonies numbered about two millions, and the black
about half a million.

In 1754, the French had upward of sixty posts west of the Alleghanies,
and were sending expeditions to drive out whatever Englishmen could be
found. The Indian tribes who believed themselves to own the land were
aroused, and appealed to the Americans to assist them; which the latter
were willing to do, though not for the Indians' sake. Virginia was
especially concerned, because she claimed beyond the western mountains,
and had definite designs in that direction. In order to find out just what
the disposition of the French might be, Robert Dinwiddie, a Scot, governor
of Virginia, selected a trustworthy envoy to proceed to the French
commanders in the disputed districts and ask their purposes. His choice
fell upon George Washington, a young man of blameless character, steady,
courageous and observant, wise in judgment and of mature mind, though he
was but one and twenty years of age. He was the son of a Virginia planter,
had had such schooling as his neighborhood afforded until he was sixteen,
and had then begun life as a surveyor--a good calling in a country whose
inhabitants were daily increasing and whose lands were practically
limitless. Life in the open air, and the custom of the woods and hills,
had developed a frame originally powerful into that of a tall and hardened
athlete, able to run, wrestle, swim, leap, ride, as well as to use the
musket and the sword. His intellect was not brilliant, but it was clear,
and his habit of thought methodical; he was of great modesty, yet one of
those who rise to the emergency, and are kindled into greater and greater
power by responsibilities or difficulties which would overwhelm feebler or
less constant natures. None would have been less likely than Washington
himself to foretell his own greatness; but when others believed in him he
was compelled by his religious and conscientious nature to act up to their
belief. The marvelous selflessness of the man, while it concealed from him
what he was, immeasurably increased his power to act; to do his duty was
all that he ever proposed to himself, and therefore he was able to
concentrate his every faculty on that alone. The lessons of experience
were never thrown away upon him, and his faith in an overruling Providence
rendered him calm at all times, except on the rare occasions when some
subordinate's incompetence or negligence at a critical moment caused to
burst forth in him that terrific wrath which was more appalling to its
object than the guns of a battery. There was always great personal dignity
in Washington, insomuch that nothing like comradeship, in the familiar
sense, was ever possible to any one with him; he was totally devoid of the
sense of humor, and was therefore debarred from one whole region of human
sympathies which Franklin loved to dwell in. It is one of the marvels of
history that a man with a mind of such moderate compass as Washington's
should have gained the reputation, which he amply deserved, of being the
foremost American of his age, and one of the leading figures in human
annals. But, in truth, we attach far too much weight to intellect in our
estimates of human worth. Washington, was competent for the work that was
given him to do, and that work was one of the most important that ever
fell to the lot of a man. Faith, firmness, integrity, grasp, simplicity,
and the exceptional physical endowment which enabled him to support the
tremendous fatigues and trials of his campaigns, and of the opposition he
encountered from selfish and shortsighted politicians in Congress--these
qualities were almost sufficient to account for Washington. Almost, but
perhaps not quite; there must have been in addition an inestimable
personal equation which fused all into a harmonious individuality that
isolates him in our regard: a wholeness, which can be felt, but which is
hardly to be set down in phrases.

Washington's instructions required him to proceed to Venango and
Waterford, a distance of more than four hundred miles, through forests and
over mountains, with rivers to cross and hostile Indians to beware of; and
it was the middle of November when he set out, with the most inclement
season of the year before him. Kit Gist, a hunter and trapper of the Natty
Bumppo order, was his guide; they laid their course through the dense but
naked forests as a mariner over a sullen sea. Four or five attendants,
including an interpreter, made up the party. Day after day they rode,
sleeping at night round a fire, with the snow or the freezing rain falling
on their blankets, and the immense silence of the winter woods around
them. On the 23d of the month they came to the point of junction between
two great rivers--the Monongahela and the Alleghany. A wild and solitary
spot it was, hardly visited till then by white men; the land on the fork
was level and broad, with mighty trees thronging upon it; opposite were
steep bluffs. The Alleghany hurried downward at the rate a man would walk;
the Monongahela loitered, deep and glassy. Washington had acted as
adjutant of a body of Virginia troops for the past two or three years, and
he examined the place with the eyes of a soldier as well as of a surveyor.
It seemed to him that a fort and a town could be well placed there; but in
the pure frosty air of that ancient forest, untenanted save by wild
beasts, there was no foreshadowing of the grimy smoke and roar, the
flaring smelting-works, the crowded and eager population of the Pittsburgh
that was to be. Having fixed the scene in his memory, Washington rode his
horse down the river bank, and plunging into the icy current, swam across.
On the northwest shore a fire was built, where the party dried their
garments, and slept the sleep of frontiersmen.

Conducted now by the Delawares, they crossed low-lying, fertile lands to
Logstown, where they got news of a junction between French troops from
Louisiana and from Erie. Arriving in due season at Venango, Washington
found the French officer in command there very positive that the Ohio was
theirs, and that they would keep it; they admitted that the English
outnumbered them; but "they are too dilatory," said the Frenchman, staring
up with an affectation of superciliousness at the tall, blue-eyed young
Virginian. The latter thanked the testy Gaul, with his customary grave
courtesy, and continued his journey to Fort Le Boeuf. It was a structure
characteristic of the place and period; a rude but effective redoubt of
logs and clay, with the muzzles of cannon pouting from the embrasures, and
more than two hundred boats and canoes for the trip down the river. "I
shall seize every Englishman in the valley," was the polite assurance of
the commander; but, being a man of pith himself, he knew another when he
saw him, and offered Washington the hospitalities of the post. But the
serious young soldier had no taste for hobnobbing, and returned at once to
Venango, where he found his horses unavailable, and continued southward on
foot, meeting bad weather and deep snow. He borrowed a deerskin shirt and
leggins from the tallest of the Indians, dismissed his attendants, left
the Indian trail, and struck out for the Forks by compass, with Gist as
his companion. A misguided red man, hoping for glory from the white
chief's scalp, prepared an ambush, and as Washington passed within a few
paces, pulled the trigger on him. He did not know that the destiny of half
the world hung upon his aim; but indeed the bullet was never molded that
could draw blood from Washington. The red man missed; and the next moment
Gist had him helpless, with a knife at his throat. But no: the man who
could pour out the lives of his country's enemies, and of his own
soldiers, without stint, when duty demanded it, and could hang a gallant
and gently nurtured youth as a spy, was averse from bloodshed when only
his insignificant self was concerned. Gist must sulkily put up his knife,
and the would-be assassin was suffered to depart in peace. But in order to
avoid the possible consequences of this magnanimity, the envoy and his
companion traveled without pausing for more than sixty miles. And then,
here was the Alleghany to cross again, and no horse to help one. Swimming
was out of the question, even for the iron Washington, for the river was
hurtling with jagged cakes of ice.

A day's hacking with a little hatchet cut down trees enough--not apple
trees--to make a raft, on which they adventured; but in mid-stream
Washington's pole upset him, and he was fain to get ashore on an island.
There must they pass the night; and so cold was it, that the next morning
they were able to reach the mainland dry shod, on the ice. What was
crossing the Delaware (almost exactly twenty-three years afterward)
compared to this? Washington was destined to do much of his work amid snow
and ice; but for aught anybody could say, the poles or the equator were
all one to him.

In consequence of his report a fort was begun on the site of Pittsburgh,
and he was appointed lieutenant-colonel to take charge of it, with a
hundred and fifty men, and orders to destroy whomsoever presumed to stay
him. Two hundred square miles of fertile Ohio lands were to be their
reward. An invitation to other colonies to join in the assertion of
English ownership met with scanty response, or none at all. The idea of a
union was in the air, but it was complicated with that old bugbear of a
regular revenue to be exacted by act of Parliament, which Shirley and the
others still continued to press with hungry zeal; while the assemblies
were not less set upon making all grants annual, with specifications as to
person and object. While the matter hung in the wind, the Virginians were
exposed to superior forces; but in the spring of 1754 Washington, with
forty men, surprised a party under Jumonville, defeated them, killed
Jumonville, and took the survivors prisoners. Washington was exposed to
the thickest showers of the bullets; they whistled to him familiarly, and
"believe me," he assured a correspondent, "there is something charming in
the sound." His life was to be sweetened by a great deal of that kind of
charm.

But the French were gathering like hornets, and the Lieutenant-colonel
must needs take refuge in a stockaded post named Fort Necessity, where his
small force was besieged by seven hundred French and Indians who, in a
nine hours' attack, killed thirty of his men, but used up most of their
own ammunition. A parley resulted in Washington's marching out with all
his survivors and their baggage and retiring from the Ohio valley. The war
was begun; and it is worth noting that Washington's command to "Fire!" on
Jumonville's party was the word that began it. But still the other
colonists held off. The Six Nations began to murmur: "The French are men,"
said they; "you are like women." In June, 1754, a convocation or congress
of deputies from all colonies north of the Potomac came together at
Albany. Franklin was among them, with the draught of a plan of union in
his ample pocket, and dauntless and deep thoughts in his broad mind. He
was always far in advance of his time; one of the most "modern" men of
that century; but he had the final excellence of wisdom which consists in
never forcing his contemporaries to bite off more than there was
reasonable prospect of their being able to chew. He lifted them gently up
step after step of the ascent toward the stars.

Philadelphia is a central spot (this was the gist of his proposal), so
let it be the seat of our federal government. Let us have a triennial
grand council to originate bills, allowing King George to appoint the
governor-general who may have a negative voice, and who shall choose the
military officers, as against the civil appointees of the council. All war
measures, external land purchases and organization, general laws and taxes
should be the province of the federal government, but each colony should
keep its private constitution, and money should issue only by common
consent. Once a year should the council meet, to sit not more than six
weeks, under a speaker of their own choosing.--In the debate, the scheme
was closely criticised, but the suave wielder of the lightning gently
disarmed all opponents, and won a substantial victory--"not altogether to
my mind"; but he insisted upon no counsel of perfection. England, and some
of the colonies themselves, were somewhat uneasy after thinking it over;
mutual sympathy is not created by reason. England doubted on other
grounds; a united country might be more easy to govern than thirteen who
each demanded special treatment; but then, what if the federation decline
to be governed at all? Meanwhile, there was the federation; and Franklin,
looking westward, foresaw the Nineteenth Century.

[Illustration: Death of General Braddock]

Doubtless, however, outside pressure would be necessary to re-enforce the
somewhat lukewarm sentiment among the colonies in favor of union. A review
of their several conditions at this time would show general prosperity and
enjoyment of liberty, but great unlikenesses in manners and customs and
private prejudices. Virginia, most important of the southern group, showed
the apparent contradiction of a people with republican ideas living after
the style of aristocrats; breeding great gentlemen like Washington,
Jefferson, Madison and Patrick Henry, who were to be leaders in the work
of founding and defending the first great democracy of the world. Maryland
was a picturesque principality under the rule of a dissolute young prince,
who enjoyed a great private revenue from his possessions, and yet
interfered but little with the individual freedom of his subjects.
Pennsylvania was administering itself on a basis of sheer civic equality,
and was absorbing from Franklin the principles of liberal thought and
education. New York was so largely tinged with Dutchmanship that it
resented more than the others the authority of alien England, and fought
its royal governors to the finish. New England was an aggregation of
independent towns, each a little democracy, full of religious and
educational vigor. In Delaware, John Woolman the tailor was denouncing
slavery with all the zeal and arguments of the Garrisons of a century
later. These were incongruous elements to be bound into a fagot; but there
was a policy being consolidated in England which would presently give them
good reason for standing together to secure rights which were more
precious than private pet traditions and peculiarities. Newcastle became
head of the English government; he appointed the absurd Duke of
Cumberland, captain-general of the English army, to the direction of
American military affairs; and he picked out an obstinate, ruffianly,
stupid martinet of a Perthshire Scotchman, sixty years old and of ruined
fortunes, to lead the English forces against the French in America.
Braddock went over armed with the new and despotic mutiny bill, and with
directions to divest all colonial army officers of their rank while in his
service. He was also to exact a revenue by royal prerogative, and the
governors were to collect a fund to be expended for colonial military
operations. This was Newcastle's notion of what was suitable for the
occasion. In the meantime Shirley, persistently malevolent, advocated
parliamentary taxation of the colonies and a congress of royal governors;
and to the arguments of Franklin against the plan, suggested colonial
representation in Parliament: which Franklin disapproved unless all
colonial disabilities be removed, and they become in all political
respects an integral portion of England. During the discussion, the
colonies themselves were resisting the royal prerogative with embarrassing
unanimity. Braddock, on landing and finding no money ready, was exceeding
wroth; but the helpless governors told him that nothing short of an act of
Parliament would suffice; possibly not even that. Taxation was the one cry
of every royal office-holder in America. What sort of a tax should it be?
--Well, a stamp-tax seemed the easiest method: a stamp, like a mosquito,
sucks but little blood at a time, but mosquitoes in the aggregate draw a
great deal. But the stamp act was to be delayed eleven years more, and
then its authors were to receive an unpleasant surprise.

There was a strong profession of reluctance on both the French and
English side to come formally to blows; both sent large bodies of troops
to the Ohio valley, "but only for defense." Braddock was ready to advance
in April, if only he had "horses and carriages"; which by Franklin's
exertions were supplied. The bits of dialogue and comment in which this
grizzled nincompoop was an interlocutor, or of which he was the theme, are
as amusing as a page from a comedy of Shakespeare. Braddock has been
called brave; but the term is inappropriate; he could fly into a rage when
his brutal or tyrannical instincts were questioned or thwarted, and become
insensible, for a time, even to physical danger. Ignorance, folly and
self-conceit not seldom make a man seem fearless who is a poltroon at
heart. Braddock's death was a better one than he deserved; he raged about
the field like a dazed bull; fly he could not; he was incapable of
adopting any intelligent measures to save his troops; on the contrary he
kept reiterating conventional orders in a manner that showed his wits were
gone. The bullet that dropped him did him good service; but his honor was
so little sensitive that he felt no gratitude at being thus saved the
consequences of one of the most disgraceful and willfully incurred defeats
that ever befell an English general. The English troops upon whom,
according to Braddock, "it was impossible that the savages should make any
impression," huddled together, and shot down their own officers in their
blundering volleys. In the narrow wood path they could not see the enemy,
who fired from behind trees at their leisure. Half of the men, and
sixty-three out of the eighty-six officers, were killed or wounded. In
that hell of explosions, smoke, yells and carnage, Washington was
clear-headed and alert, and passed to and fro amid the rain of bullets as
if his body were no more mortal than his soul. The contingent of Virginia
troops--the "raw American militia," as Braddock had called them, "who have
little courage or good will, from whom I expect almost no military
service, though I have employed the best officers to drill them":--these
men did almost the only fighting that was done on the English side, but
they were too few to avert the disaster.

The expedition had set out from Turtle Creek on the Monongahela on the
ninth of July--twelve hundred men. The objective point was Fort Duquesne,
"which can hardly detain me above three or four days," remarked the dull
curmudgeon. No scouts were thrown out: they walked straight into the
ambuscade which some two hundred French and six hundred Indians had
prepared for them. The slaughter lasted two hours; there was no
maneuvering. Thirty men of the three Virginia companies were left alive;
they stood their ground to the last, while the British regulars "ran as
sheep before hounds," leaving everything to the enemy. Washington did
whatever was possible to prevent the retreat from becoming a blind panic.
When the rout reached the camp, Dunbar, the officer in charge there,
destroyed everything, to the value of half a million dollars, and ran with
the rest. Reviewing the affair, Franklin remarks with a demure arching of
the eyebrow that it "gave us Americans the first suspicion that our
exalted ideas of the prowess of British regular troops had not been well
founded."

It was indeed an awakening for the colonists. For all their bold
resistance to oppression, they had never ceased to believe that an English
soldier was the supreme and final expression of trained and disciplined
force; and now, before their almost incredulous eyes, the flower of the
British army had been beaten, and the bloody remnant stampeded into a
shameful flight by a few hundred painted savages and Frenchmen. They all
had been watching Braddock's march; and they never forgot the lesson of
his defeat. From that time, the British regular was to them only a
"lobster-back," more likely, when it came to equal conflict with
themselves, to run away than to stand his ground.

Instead of throwing themselves into the arms of France, however, the
colonists loyally addressed themselves to helping King George out of his
scrape; and though they would not let him tax them, they hesitated not to
tax themselves.

Pennsylvania raised fifty thousand pounds, and Massachusetts sent near
eight thousand men to aid in driving the French from the northern border.
Acadia's time had come. Though the descendants of the Breton peasants, who
dated their settlement from 1604, had since the Peace of Utrecht nominally
belonged to England, yet their sentiments and mode of life had been
unaltered; Port Royal had been little changed by calling it Annapolis, and
the simple, old-fashioned Catholics loved their homes with all the
tenacity of six unbroken generations. Their feet were familiar in the
paths of a hundred and fifty quiet and industrious years; their houses
nestled in their lowly places like natural features of the landscape;
their fields and herds and the graves of their forefathers sweetened and
consecrated the land. They were a chaste, industrious, homely, pious, but
not an intellectual people; and to such the instinct of home is far
stronger than in more highly cultivated races. They had prospered in their
modest degree, and multiplied; so that now they numbered sixteen thousand
men, women and children. During the past few years, however, they had been
subjected to the unrestrained brutality of English administration in its
worst form; they had no redress at law, their property could be taken from
them without payment or recourse; if they did not keep their tyrant's
fires burning, "the soldiers shall absolutely take their houses for fuel."
Estate-titles, records, all that could identify and guarantee their
ownership in the means and conditions of livelihood, were taken; even
their boats and their antiquated firearms were sequestrated. And orders
were actually given to the soldiers to punish any misbehavior summarily
upon the first Acadian who came to hand, whether or not he were guilty of,
or aware of, the offense, and with absolutely no concern for the formality
of arrest or trial. In all the annals of Spanish brutality, there is
nothing more disgraceful to humanity than the systematic and enjoined
treatment of these innocent Bretons by the English, even before the
consummating outrage which made the whole civilized world stare in
indignant amazement.

It is a matter for keen regret that men born on our soil should have been
even involuntarily associated with this episode. The design was kept a
secret from all until the last moment; but one could wish that some
American had then committed an act of insubordination, though at the cost
of his life, by way of indicating the detestation which all civilized and
humane minds must feel for such an act. The colonists knew the value of
liberty; they had made sacrifices for it; they had felt the shadow of
oppression; and they might see, in the treatment of the Acadians, what
would have been their fate had they yielded to the despotic instincts of
England. The best and the worst that can be said of them is that they
obeyed orders, and looked on while the iniquity was being perpetrated.

The force of provincials and regulars landed without molestation, and
captured the feeble forts with the loss of but twenty killed. The Acadians
agreed to take the oath of fidelity, but stipulated not to be forced to
bear arms against their own countrymen. General Charles Lawrence, the
lieutenant-governor of Nova Scotia, replied to their plea that they be
allowed to have their boats and guns, that it was "highly arrogant,
insidious and insulting"; and Halifax, another of the companions in
infamy, added that they wanted their boats for "carrying provisions to the
enemy"--there being no enemy nearer than Quebec. As for the guns, "All
Roman Catholics are restrained from having arms, and are subject to
penalties if arms are found in their houses."--"Not the want of arms, but
our consciences, would engage us not to revolt," pleaded the unhappy men.
--"What excuse can you make," bellows Halifax, "for treating this
government with such indignity as to expound to them the nature of
fidelity?" The Acadians agreed to take the oath unconditionally: "By
British statute," they were thereupon informed, "having once refused, you
cannot after take the oath, but are popish recusants." Chief-justice
Belcher, a third of these British moguls, declared they obstructed the
progress of the settlement, and that all of them should be deported from
the province. Proclamation was then made, ordering them to assemble at
their respective posts; and in the morning they obeyed, leaving their
homes, to which, though they knew it not, they were never to return. "Your
lands and tenements, cattle of all kinds, and livestock of all sorts, are
forfeited to the crown," they were told, "and you yourselves are to be
removed from this province." They were kept prisoners, without food, till
the ships should be ready. Not only were they torn from their homes, but
families were separated, sons from their mothers, husbands from their
wives, daughters from their parents, and, as Longfellow has pictured to
us, lovers from one another. Those who tried to escape were hunted by the
soldiers like wild beasts, and "if they can find a pretext to kill them,
they will," said a British officer. They were scattered, helpless,
friendless and destitute, all up and down the Atlantic coast, and their
villages were laid waste. Lord Loudoun, British commander-in-chief in
America, on receiving a petition from some of them written in French, was
so enraged not only at their petitioning, but that they should presume to
do so in their own language, that he had five of their leading men
arrested, consigned to England, and sent as common seamen on English
men-of-war. No detail was wanting, from first to last, to make the crime
of the Acadian deportation perfect; and only an Irishman, Edmund Burke,
lifted his voice to say that the deed was inhuman, and done "upon
pretenses that, in the eye of an honest man, are not worth a farthing."
But Burke was not in Parliament until eleven years after the Acadians were
scattered.

The incident, from an external point of view, does not belong to the
history of the United States. Yet is it pertinent thereto, as showing of
what enormities the English of that age were capable. Their entire conduct
during this French war was dishonorable, and often atrocious. Forgetting
the facts of history, we often smile at the grumblings of the Continental
nations anent "Perfidious Albion" and "British gold." But the acts
committed by the English government during these years fully justify every
charge of corruption, treachery and political profligacy that has ever
been brought against them. It was a strange age, in which a great and
noble people were mysteriously hurried into sins, follies and disgraces
seemingly foreign to their character. It was because the people had
surrendered their government into alien and shameless hands. They deserved
their punishment; for it is nothing less than a crime, having known
liberty, either to deny it to others, or for the sake of earthly advantage
to consent to any compromise of it in ourselves.



CHAPTER TWELFTH

THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM AND THE STAMP ACT


The gathering of soldiers from France, England and the colonies, and the
rousing of the Indians on one side and the other, made the great forest
which stretched across northern New York and New England populous with
troops and resonant with the sounds of war. Those solemn woodland aisles
and quiet glades were desecrated by marchings and campings, and in the
ravines and recesses lay the corpses of men in uniforms, the grim remains
of peasants who had been born three thousand miles away. Passing through
the depths of the wilderness, apparently remote from all human habitation,
suddenly one would come upon a fortress, frowning with heavy guns, and
surrounded by the log-built barracks of the soldiery, who, in the
intervals of siege and combat, passed their days impatiently, thinking of
the distant homes from which they came, and muttering their discontent at
inaction and uncertainty. The region round the junction of Lake George and
Lake Champlain, where stood the strongholds of Fort Edward and Fort
William Henry, of Crown Point and Ticonderoga, was the scene of many
desperate conflicts, between 1758 and 1780; and the wolves of the forest,
and the bears of the Vermont mountains, were disturbed in their lairs by
the tumults and the restless evolutions, and wandered eastward until they
came among the startled hamlets and frontier farms of the settlements. The
savagery of man, surpassing theirs, drove them to seek shelter amid the
abodes of man himself; but there was no safety for them there, as many a
bloody head and paws, trophies of rustic marksmanship, attested. The
dominion of the wilderness was approaching its end in America. Everywhere
you might hear the roll of the drum, and there was no family but had its
soldier, and few that did not have their dead. There were a score of
thousand British troops in the northern provinces, and every week brought
rumors and alarms, and portents of victory or defeat. The haggard
post-rider came galloping in with news from north and west, which the
throng of anxious village folks gather to hear. There have been
skirmishes, successes, retreats, surprises, massacres, retaliations; there
is news from Niagara and Oswego on far away Lake Ontario, and echoes of
the guns at Ticonderoga. There are proclamations for enlistment, and
requisitions for ammunition; and the tailors in the towns are busy cutting
out scarlet uniforms and decorating them with gold braid. Markets for the
supply of troops are established in the woods, far from any settled
habitations, where shrewd farmers bargain with the hungry soldiery for
carcasses of pigs and beeves, and for disheveled hens from distant
farmyards; the butcher's shop is kept under the spreading brandies of the
trees, from whose low limbs dangle the tempting wares, and a stump serves
as a chopping-block. Under the shrubbery, where the sun cannot penetrate,
are stored home-made firkins full of yellow butter, and great cheeses, and
heaps of substantial home-baked bread. Kegs of hard cider and spruce beer
and perhaps more potent brews are abroach, and behind the haggling and
jesting and bustle you may catch the sound of muskets or the whoop of the
Indians from afar. Meanwhile, in the settlements, all manner of industries
were stimulated, and a great number of women throughout the country, left
to take care of their children and themselves by the absence of their
men-folk, went into business of all kinds, and drove a thriving trade.
Lotteries were also popular, the promoters retaining a good share of the
profits after the nominal object of the transaction had been attained. It
was well that the war operations were carried on far from the populous
regions, so that only the fighters themselves were involved in the
immediate consequences. The battle was for the homes of posterity, where
as yet the woodman's ax had never been heard, except to provide defenses
against death, instead of habitations for life. Those who could not go to
the war sat round the broad country hearthstones at night, with the fire
of logs leaping up the great cavern of the chimney, telling stories of
past exploits, speculating as to the present, praying perhaps for the
future, and pausing now and then to listen to strange noises abroad in the
night-ridden sky--strains of ghostly music playing a march or a charge, or
the thunder of phantom guns.

Governor Shirley, who while in France in 1749 had married a French wife
and brought her home with him, and who for a while had the chief command
of the king's forces in America, was in disfavor with the people, who
suspected his wife of sending treasonable news to the enemy; and having
also proved inefficient as a soldier, he was recalled to England in 1756,
and vanished thenceforth as a factor in American affairs, in which his
influence had always been selfish and illiberal, if not worse. Thomas
Pownall succeeded him and held his position for three years, when he was
transferred to South Carolina. He was a man of fashion, and of little
weight. From the shuffle of men who appeared and disappeared during the
early years of the war, a few stand out in permanent distinctness.
Washington's reputation steadily increased; Amherst, Wolfe and Lyman
achieved distinction on the English side, and Montcalm and Dieskau on the
French. In 1757, General Loudoun, one of the agents of the despoiling of
Acadia, made a professed attempt to capture Louisburg, which had been
given back to the French at the last peace; but after wasting a summer in
vain drilling of his forces, retired in dismay on learning that the French
fleet outnumbered his own by one vessel. The place was bombarded and taken
the next year by Amherst and Wolfe, but Halifax was the English
headquarters in that region. Before this however, in the summer of 1755,
immediately after the defeat of Braddock, an army of New Englanders
assembled at Albany to capture Crown Point, where the French had called
together every able-bodied man available. William Johnson was commander,
and associated with him was Phinehas Lyman, a natural-born soldier. They
marched to the southern shore of what the French called the Lake of the
Holy Sacrament, but which Johnson thought would better be named Lake
George. The army, with its Indian allies, numbered about thirty-four
hundred; a camping ground was cleared, but no intrenchments were thrown
up; no enemy seemed to be within reach. Dieskau, informed of the advance,
turned from his design against Oswego in the west, and marched for Fort
Edward, in the rear of Johnson's troops. By a mistake of the guide he
found himself approaching the open camp. Johnson sent a Massachusetts man,
Ephraim Williams, with a thousand troops, to save Fort Edward. They nearly
fell into an ambush; as it was, their party was overpowered by the enemy;
Williams was killed, but Whiting of Connecticut guarded the retreat.
During the action, a redoubt of logs had been constructed in the camp, and
was strengthened with baggage and wagons. The Americans, with their
fowling-pieces, defended this place for five hours against two hundred
regular French troops, six hundred Canadians, and as many Indians. Johnson
received a scratch early in the engagement, and made it an excuse to
retire; and Lyman assumed direction. Dieskau bravely led the French
regulars, nearly all of whom were killed; he was four times wounded; the
Canadians were intimidated. At length, about half past four in the
afternoon, the French retreated, though the American losses equaled
theirs; a body of them were pursued by Macginnes of New Hampshire and left
their baggage behind them in their haste; but the body of Macginnes also
remained on the field. The credit for this battle, won by Lyman, was given
by the English government to Johnson, who received a baronetcy and a "tip"
of five thousand pounds. It would have been the first step in a series of
successes had not Johnson, instead of following up his victory, timidly
remained in camp, building Fort William Henry; and when winter approached,
he disbanded the New Englanders and retired. The French had taken
advantage of their opportunity to intrench themselves in Ticonderoga,
which was destined to become a name of awe for the colonists. At the same
time that Braddock marched on Fort Duquesne, Shirley had set out with two
thousand men to capture the fort at Niagara, garrisoned by but thirty
ill-armed men; the intention being to form a junction there with the
all-conquering Braddock. The latter's annihilation took all the heart out
of the superserviceable Shirley; he got no further than Oswego, where he
frittered the summer away, and then retreated under a cloud of pretexts.
He and the other royal officials were all this while pleading for a
general fund to be created by Parliament, or in any other manner, so that
a fund there be; and asserting that the frontiers would otherwise be, and
in fact were, defenseless. In the face of such tales the colonies were of
their own motion providing all the necessary supplies for war, and
Franklin had taken personal charge of the northwest border. But the
English ministry saw in these measures only increasing peril from popular
power, and pushed forward a scheme for a military dictatorship. In May,
1756, war was formally declared, and England arbitrarily forbade other
nations to carry French merchandise in their ships. Abercrombie was chosen
general for the prosecution of the campaign in America, and arrived at
Albany, after much dilatoriness, in June. Bradstreet reported that he had
put stores into Oswego for five thousand men; and that the place was
already threatened by the enemy. Still the English delayed. Montcalm
arrived at Quebec to lead the French army, and immediately planned the
capture of Oswego. In August he took an outlying redoubt, and the garrison
of Oswego surrendered just as he was about to open fire upon it. Sixteen
hundred prisoners, over a hundred cannon, stores, boats and money were the
prize; and Montcalm destroyed the fort and returned in triumph. Loudoun
and Abercrombie, with an army of thousands of men, which could have taken
Canada with ease, thought only of keeping out of Montcalm's way, pleading
in excuse that they feared to trust the "provincials"--who had thus far
done all the fighting that had been done, and won all the successes. In
spite of the remonstrances of the civic authorities, the British troops
and officers were billeted upon New York and Philadelphia. Two more
frightened generals were never seen; and the provinces were left open to
the enemy's attack. But the Americans took the war into their own hands.
John Armstrong of Cumberland County, Pennsylvania, crossed the Alleghanies
in September and in a desperate fight destroyed an Indian tribe that had
been massacring along the border, burned their town and blew up their
powder. In January of 1757, Stark, a daring ranger, with seventy men, made
a dash on Lake George, and engaged a party of two hundred and fifty
French. About the same time, at Philadelphia and Boston it was voted to
raise men for the service; a hundred thousand pounds was also voted, but
the proprietors refused to pay their quota, and represented in England
that the Pennsylvanians were obstructing the measures for defense.
Franklin, sent to England to remonstrate, was told that the king was the
legislator of the colonies. All action was paralyzed by the corruption and
cowardice of the royal officials. The pusillanimity of Loudoun, with his
ten thousand men and powerful fleet in Nova Scotia, has been already
mentioned. In July Montcalm, with a mixed force of more than seven
thousand, advanced upon Fort William Henry. Webb, who should have opposed
him, retreated, leaving Monro with five hundred men to hold the fort. He
refused Montcalm's summons to surrender; Webb, who might still have saved
him, refused to do so; he fought until his ammunition was gone and half
his guns burst, and then surrendered upon Montcalm's promise of the honors
of war and an escort out of the country. But the Indians had got rum from
the English stores and passed the night in drunken revelry; in the morning
they set upon the unarmed English as they left the fort, and began to
plunder and tomahawk them. Montcalm and his officers did their utmost to
stop the treacherous outrage; but thirty men were murdered. Montcalm has
been treated leniently by history; he was indeed a brilliant and heroic
soldier, and he had the crowning honor of dying bravely at Quebec; but he
cannot be held blameless in this affair. He had taught the Indians that he
was as one of themselves, had omitted no means of securing their amity;
had danced and sung with them and smiled approvingly on their butcherings
and scalpings; and he had no right to imagine that they would believe him
sincere in his promise to spare the prisoners. It was too late for him to
cry "Kill me, but spare them!" after the massacre had commenced. It was
his duty to have taken measures to render such a thing impossible
beforehand. He had touched pitch, and was denied.

Disgrace and panic reigned among all the English commanders. Webb
whimpered to be allowed to fall back on the Hudson with his six thousand
men; Loudoun cowered in New York with his large army, and could think of
no better way of defending the northwest frontier than by intrenching
himself on Long Island. There was not an Englishman in the Ohio or the St.
Lawrence Basins. Everywhere beyond the narrow strip of the colonies the
French were paramount. In Europe, England's position was almost as
contemptible. Such was the result of the attempt of the aristocracy to
rule England. There was only one man who could save England, and he was an
old man, poor, a commoner, and sick almost to death. But in 1757 William
Pitt was called to the English helm, accepted the responsibility, and
steered the country from her darkest to her most brilliant hour. The
campaigns which drove the soldiers of Louis XV. out of America were the
first chapter of the movement which ended in the expulsion of the British
from the territory of the United States. Catholicism and Protestantism
were arrayed against each other for the last time. Pitt was the man of the
people; his ambition, though generous, was as great as his abilities; the
colonies knew him as their friend. "I can save this country, and nobody
else can," he said; and bent his final energies to making England the
foremost nation in the world, and the most respected. The faith of Rome
allied France with Austria; and Prussia, with Frederic the Great, standing
as the sole bulwark of Protestantism on the Continent, was inevitably
drawn toward England.

With one movement of his all-powerful hand, Pitt reversed the oppressive
and suicidal policy of the colonial administration. Loudoun was recalled;
his excuses were vain. Amherst and Wolfe were sent out. The colonies were
told that no compulsion should be put upon them; they were expected to
levy, clothe and pay their men, but the government would repay their
outlay. Instantly they responded, and their contributions exceeded all
anticipation. Massachusetts taxed herself thirteen and fourpence in the
pound. Provincial officers not above colonel ranked with the British, and
a new spirit animated all. On the other hand, Canada suffered from famine,
and Montcalm foresaw eventual defeat. Amherst and Wolfe, with ten thousand
men, captured Louisburg and destroyed the fortifications. At the same
time, a great army was collected against Ticonderoga. Nine thousand
provincials, with Stark, Israel Putnam, and six hundred New England
rangers, camped side by side with over six thousand troops of the British
regulars under Abercrombie and Lord Howe. The French under Montcalm had
erected Fort Carillon on the outlet from Lake George to Champlain,
approachable only from the northwest. It was here that he planned his
defense. The English disembarked on the west side of the lake, protected
by Point Howe. In marching round the bend they came upon a French party of
three hundred and defeated them, Howe falling in the first attack.
Montcalm was behind intrenchments with thirty-six hundred men; Abercrombie
rashly gave orders to carry the works by storm without waiting for cannon,
but was careful to remain far in the rear during the action. The attack
was most gallantly and persistently delivered; nearly two thousand men,
mostly regulars, were killed; and, at the end of the murderous day,
Montcalm remained master of the field. Abercrombie still had four times as
many men as Montcalm, and with his artillery could easily have carried the
works and captured Ticonderoga; but he was by this time "distilled almost
to a jelly by the act of fear" and fled headlong at once. Montcalm had not
yet met his match.

Bradstreet, however, with seven hundred Massachusetts men and eleven
hundred New Yorkers, crossed Lake Ontario and took Port Frontenac, the
garrison fleeing at their approach. Amherst, on hearing of Abercrombie's
cowardice, embarked for Boston with over four thousand men, marched thence
to Albany and on to the camp; Abercrombie was sent to England, and Amherst
took his place as chief. The capture of Fort Duquesne was the first thing
planned. Over forty-five hundred men were raised in South Carolina,
Pennsylvania and Virginia; Joseph Forbes commanded them as
brigadier-general; Washington led the Virginians; John Armstrong and the
boy, Anthony Wayne, were with the Pennsylvanians. Washington, who had clad
part of his men in Indian deerskins, wanted to follow Braddock's line of
march; but Forbes, who had not long to live, though his brain remained
clear, preferred to build a road by which ready communication with
Philadelphia could be kept up. Washington got news that the Fort had but
eight hundred defenders, and a strong reconnaissance was sent forward,
without his knowledge, under Major Grant, who, thinking he had the French
at advantage, exposed himself and was defeated with a loss of three
hundred. The remaining five hundred reached camp in good order, thanks to
the discipline which had been given them by Washington. Forbes had decided
to advance no further that season--it was then November; but Washington
had information which caused him to gain permission to advance with
twenty-five hundred provincials, and he occupied intrenchments near
Duquesne. Nine days later the rest of the army arrived; and the garrison
of the Fort set fire to it at night and fled. The place was entered by the
troops, Armstrong raised the British flag, and at Forbes' suggestion it
was rechristened Pittsburgh. And there, above the confluence of the two
rivers, the city named after the Great Commoner stands to-day. A vast and
fertile country was thenceforward opened to the east. After burying the
bleaching bones of the men killed under Braddock, a garrison was left on
the spot, and the rest of the army returned.

Washington, who had seen five years' arduous service, resigned his
commission, and after receiving cordial honors from his fellow officers
and the Virginia legislature, married the widow, Martha Custis, and
settled down as a planter in Mount Vernon. He was a delegate to the
Virginia House of Burgesses and to the Continental Congresses of 1774 and
1775; but it was not until the latter year that he reappeared as a
soldier, accepting the command of the Continental forces on the 15th of
June, not against the French, but against the English.

In 1759 the genius and spirit of Pitt began to be fully felt. The English
were triumphant in Europe, and a comprehensive plan for the conquest of
Canada was intrusted for the first time to men capable of carrying it out.
Thousands of men were enlisted and paid for by the colonies north of
Maryland. Stanwix, Amherst, Prideaux and Wolfe were the chiefs in command.
Fifty thousand English and provincial troops were opposed by not more than
an eighth as many half-starved Frenchmen and Canadians. Montcalm had no
illusions; he told the French Minister of War that, barring extraordinary
accidents, Canada's hour had come; but he "was resolved to find his grave
under the ruins of the colony." And young General Wolfe had said, on being
given the department of the St. Lawrence, "I feel called upon to justify
the notice taken of me by such exertions and exposure of myself as will
probably lead to my fall." The premonitions of both these valiant soldiers
were fulfilled. Wolfe was at this time thirty-two years of age, and had
spent half his life in the army. The Marquis de Montcalm was forty-seven
when he fell on the Plains of Abraham. Neither general had been defeated
up to the moment they faced each other; neither could succumb to any less
worthy adversary.

But the first objective point was not Quebec, but Fort Niagara, which,
standing between Erie and Ontario, commanded the fur trade of the country
to the west. Prideaux, with an adequate force of English, Americans and
Indians, invested the place in July, D'Aubry, the French commander,
bringing up twelve hundred men to relieve it. Just before the action,
Prideaux was killed by the bursting of a mountain howitzer, but Sir
William Johnson was at hand to take his place. On the 24th the battle took
place; the French were flanked by the English Indians, and charged by the
English; they broke and fled, and the Fort surrendered next day. Stanwix
had meanwhile taken possession of all the French posts between Pittsburgh
and Erie. The English had got their enemy on the run all along the line.
Gage was the only English officer to disgrace himself in this campaign; he
squirmed out of compliance with Amherst's order to occupy the passes of
Ogdensburgh. Amherst, with artillery and eleven thousand men, advanced on
the hitherto invincible Ticonderoga. The French knew they were beaten, and
therefore, instead of fighting, abandoned the famous stronghold and Crown
Point, and retreated down to Isle aux Nois, whither Amherst should have
followed them. Instead of doing so, he took to building and repairing
fortifications--the last infirmity of military minds of a certain order
--and finally went into winter quarters with nothing further done.
Amherst, at the end of the war, received the routine rewards of a
well-meaning and not defeated commander-in-chief; but it was Wolfe who won
immortality.

He collected his force of eight thousand men, including two battalions of
"Royal Americans," at Louisburg; among his ship captains was Cook the
explorer; Lieutenant-colonel Howe commanded a body of light infantry.
Before the end of June the army stepped ashore on the island that fills
the channel of the St. Lawrence below Quebec, called the Isle of Orleans.
Montcalm's camp was between them and the tall acclivity on which stood the
famous fortress, which had defied capture for a hundred and thirty years.
The French outnumbered the English, but neither the physical condition nor
the morale of their troops was good. That beetling cliff was the ally on
which Montcalm most depended. All the landing-places up stream for nine
miles had been fortified: the small river St. Charles covered with its
sedgy marshes the approach on the north and east, while on the west
another stream, the Montmorenci, rising nearly at the same place as the
St. Charles, falls in cataracts into the St. Lawrence nine miles above the
citadel. All these natural features had been improved by military art.
High up, north and west of the city, spread the broad Plains of Abraham.

Wolfe's fleet commanded the river and the south shore. Point Levi, on
this shore, opposite Quebec, was fortified by the English, and siege guns
were mounted there, the channel being but a mile wide; the lower town
could be reached by the red-hot balls, but not the lofty citadel. After
personally examining the region during the greater part of July, Wolfe
decided on a double attack; one party to ford the Montmorenci, which was
practicable at a certain hour of the tide, and the other to cross over in
boats from Point Levi. But the boats grounded on some rocks in the
channel; and Wolfe was repulsed at the Montmorenci. Four hundred men were
lost. An expedition was now sent up stream to open communication with
Amherst; but though it was learned that Niagara, Crown Point and
Ticonderoga had fallen, Amherst did not appear. Wolfe must do his work
alone; the entire population of the country was against him, and the
strongest natural fortification in the world. His eager anxiety threw him
into a fever. "My constitution is entirely ruined, without the consolation
of having done any considerable service to the state, and without any
prospect of it," was what he wrote to the English government. Four days
afterward he was dying victorious on the Plains of Abraham.

The early Canadian winter would soon be at hand. The impossible must be
done, and at once. Wolfe, after several desperate proposals of his had
been rejected by the council of war, made a feint in force up the river,
in the hope of getting Montcalm where he could fight him. He scrutinized
the precipitous north shore as with a magnifying glass. At last, on the
11th of September, the hope that had so long been burning within him was
gratified. But what a hope! A headlong goat-track cleft its zigzag way up
the awful steep, and emerged at last upon the dizzy and breathless height
above. Two men could scarce climb abreast in it; and even this was
defended by fortifications, and at the summit, against the sky, tents
could be seen. Yet this was the only way to victory: only by this
heartbreaking path could England drive France from the western continent,
and give a mighty nation to the world. Wolfe saw, and was content; where
one man could go, thousands might follow. And he perceived that the very
difficulty of the enterprise was the best assurance of its success. The
place was defended indeed, but not strongly. Montcalm knew what daring
could accomplish, but even he had not dreamed of daring such as this.
Wolfe, with a great soul kindled into flame by the resolve to achieve a
feat almost beyond mortal limitations, dared it, and prevailed.

Till the hour of action, he kept his troops far up the stream. By the
13th, all preparations were made. Night came on, calm, like the heart of
the hero who knows that the culminating moment of his destiny has arrived.
At such a crisis, the mortal part of the man is transfigured by the
towering spirit, and his eyes pierce through the veils of things. His life
lies beneath him, and he contemplates its vicissitudes with the high
tranquillity of an immortal freedom. What is death to him who has already
triumphed over the fetters of the flesh, and tasted the drink of
immortality? He is the trustee of the purpose of God; and the guerdon his
deed deserves can be nothing less noble than to die.

It was at one in the morning that the adventure was begun. Silently the
boats moved down the stream, the dark ships following in silence.
Thousands of brave hearts beat with heroic resolve beneath the eternal
stars. The shadowy cove was gained; Wolfe's foot has touched the shore; as
the armed figures follow and gather at the foot of the ascent, no words
are spoken, but what an eloquence in those faces! Upward they climb, afire
with zeal; Howe has won a battery; upward! the picket on the height, too
late aroused from sleep by the stern miracle, is overpowered. With panting
lungs man after man tops the ascent and sees the darkling plain and forms
in line with his comrades, while still the stream winds up endlessly from
the depths below. The earth is giving birth to an army. Coiling upward,
deploying, ranging out, rank after rank they are extended along the front
of the forest, with Quebec before them. No drum has beat; no bugle has
spoken; but Wolfe is there, his spirit is in five thousand breasts, and
there needs no trumpet for the battle.

As the last of the army formed upon the rugged field, dawn broke upon the
east, and soon the early sunshine sparkled on their weapons and glowed
along the ranks of English red. Meanwhile Montcalm had been apprised; his
first instinct of incredulity had been swept away by the inevitable truth,
and he manned himself for the struggle. Often had he conquered against
odds; but now his spirit must bow before a spirit stronger than his, as
Antony's before Augustus. And what had he to oppose against the seasoned
veterans of the English army, thrice armed in the consciousness of their
unparalleled achievement?--Five weak and astounded battalions, and a horde
of inchoate peasants. But Montcalm did not falter; by ten he had taken up
his position, and by eleven, after some ineffectual cannonading, to allow
time for the arrival of re-enforcements which came not, he led the charge.
The attack was disordered by the uneven ground, the fences and the
ravines; and it was broken by the granite front of the English
(three-fourths of them Americans) and their long-reserved and withering
fire. The undisciplined Canadians flinched from that certain death; and
Wolfe, advancing on them with his grenadiers, saw them melt away before
the cold steel could reach them. The two leaders faced each other, both
equally undaunted and alert; it was like a duel between them; no opening
was missed, no chance neglected. The smoke hung in the still air of
morning; the long lines of men swayed and undulated beneath it obscurely,
and the roar of musketry dinned terribly in the ear, here slackening for a
moment, there breaking forth in volleying thunders; and men were dropping
everywhere; there were shoutings from the captains, the fierce crash of
cheers, yells of triumph or agony, and the faint groans of the wounded
unto death. Wolfe was hit, but he did not heed it; Montcalm has received a
musket ball, but he cannot yet die. The English battle does not yield; it
advances, the light of victory is upon it. Backward stagger the French;
Montcalm strives to check the fatal movement, but the flying death has
torn its way through his body, and he can no more. Wolfe, even as the day
was won, got his death wound in the breast, but "Support me--don't let my
brave fellows see me drop," he gasped out. His thoughts were with his
army; let the retreat of the enemy be cut off; and he died with a happy
will, and with God's name on his lips. Montcalm lingered, suggesting means
by which to retrieve the day; but the power of France died with him.
Quebec was lost and won; and human history was turned into a new channel,
and no longer flowing through the caverns of mediaeval error, rolled its
current toward the sunlight of liberty and progress. "The more a man is
versed in business, the more he finds the hand of Providence everywhere,"
was the reply of William Pitt, when Parliament congratulated him on the
victory. He had wrought his plans with wisdom and zeal; but "except the
Lord build the city, they labor in vain who build it." There have been
great statesmen and brave soldiers, before Pitt and Wolfe, and since; but
there could be only one fall of Quebec, with all which that implied.

The following spring and summer were overshadowed by an unrighteous war
against the Cherokees, precipitated by the royalist governor of Virginia,
Lyttleton. An attempt by the French under Levi to recapture Quebec failed,
in spite of the folly of the English commander, Murray; Pitt had foreseen
the effort, and destroyed it with an English fleet. Amherst, in his own
tortoise-like way, advanced and took possession of Montreal; and by
permission of the Indian, Pontiac, who regarded himself as lord of the
country, the English flag was carried to the outposts. Canada had
surrendered; in the terms imposed, property and the religious faith of the
people were respected; but nothing was promised them in the way of civil
liberty. In discussing the European peace that was now looked for,
question was raised whether to restore Canada, or the West Indian island
of Guadaloupe, to France. Some, who feared that the retention of Canada
would too much incline the colonies to independence, favored its return.
But Franklin said that Canada would be a source of strength to England.
The expense of defending that vast frontier would be saved; the rapidly
increasing population would absorb English manufactures without limit, and
their necessary devotion to farming would diminish their competition as
manufacturers. He pointed out that their differences in governments and
mutual jealousies made their united action against England unthinkable,
"unless you grossly abuse them."--"Very true: that, I see, will happen,"
returned the English lawyer Pratt, afterward Lord Cam den, the
attorney-general. But Pitt would not listen to Canada's being given up;
he was for England, not for any English clique. On the other hand, one
of those cliques was preparing to carry out the long meditated taxation of
the colonies; and the sudden death of George II., bringing his son to the
throne, favored their purpose; for the Third George had character and
energy, and not a little intelligence for a king; and he was soon seen to
intend the re-establishment of the royal prerogative in all its integrity.
As a preliminary step to this end, he accepted Pitt's resignation in
October, 1761.

Much to the displeasure of Massachusetts, Thomas Hutchinson, already
Judge of Probate, was by Governor Bernard appointed to the Chief
Justiceship of the colony; the royalist direction of his sympathies was
known. In February, 1761, he heard argument in court as to whether revenue
officers had power to call in executive assistance to enforce the acts of
trade. The crown lawyer argued that to refuse it was to deny the
sovereignty of the English Parliament in the colonies. Then James Otis
arose, and made a protest which tingled through the whole colony, and was
the first direct blow aimed against English domination. Power such as was
asked for, he said, had already cost one king of England his head and
another his throne. Writs of assistance were open to intolerable abuse;
were the instrument of arbitrary power and destructive of the fundamental
principles of law. Reason and the constitution were against them. "No act
of Parliament can establish such a writ: an act of Parliament against the
constitution is void!" These words were the seed of revolution. Hutchinson
was frightened, but succeeded in persuading his colleagues to postpone
decision until he had written to England. The English instruction was to
enforce the law, and the judges acted accordingly; but the people replied
by electing Otis to the assembly; and Hutchinson was more distrusted than
ever. At the same time, in Virginia, Richard Henry Lee denounced the slave
trade; the legislature indorsed his plea, but England denied it. South
Carolina was alienated by the same decree, and also by an unpopular war
against the Cherokees. In New York, the appointment of a judge "during the
king's pleasure" roused the assembly; but the result of their remonstrance
was that all colonial governors were instructed from England to grant no
judicial commissions but during the king's pleasure. This was to make the
Bench the instrument of the Prerogative. A judge acted on questions of
property, without a jury, on information furnished by crown officers, and
derived emoluments from his own award of forfeitures; and the governor
would favor large seizures because he got one-third of the spoils. All the
assemblies could do, for the present, was to reduce salaries; but that did
not make the offenders any less avaricious. Moreover, the king began the
practice of paying them in spite of the assemblies, and reproved the
latter for "not being animated by a sense of their duty to their king and
country."

James Otis continued to be the voice of the colonies. "Kings were made
for the good of the people, not the people for them. By the laws of God
and nature, government must not raise taxes on the property of the people
without the consent of the people. To tax without the assembly's consent
was the same in principle as for the king and the House of Lords to usurp
legislative authority in England." For the utterance of these sentiments
he was honored by the hearty support of the people, and still more by the
denunciations of men of the Hutchinson sort. The ministers were not silent
on the popular side. "May Heaven blast the designs, though not the soul,"
said Mayhew, with Christian discrimination, "of whoever he be among us who
shall have the hardiness to attack the people's rights!" King George's
answer, as soon as he had concluded the peace with France and Spain, in
1763, was to take measures to terrorize the colonists by sending out an
army of twenty battalions to be kept permanently in America, the expenses
of which the colonists were to pay. But by enforcing the acts of trade,
England had now made herself the enemy of the whole civilized world, and
the American colonies would not be without allies in the struggle that was
drawing near.

While these matters were in agitation among the white people, the Indians
in the north were discovering grievances of their own. Pontiac, an Ottawa
chief, and by his personal abilities the natural leader of many tribes,
was the instigator and center of the revolt. The English masters of Canada
had showed themselves less congenial to the red men than the French had
done; they could not understand that savages had any rights which they
were bound to respect; while Pontiac conceived that no white man could
live in the wilderness without his permission. Upon this issue, trouble
was inevitable; and Pontiac planned a general movement of all the Indians
in the north against the colonists. The success of the scheme could of
course be only momentary; that it attained the dignity of a "war" was due
to the influence and energy of the Indian general. His design was of broad
scope, embracing a simultaneous attack on all the English frontier forts;
a wide coalition of tribes was effected; and though their tactics were not
essentially different from those heretofore employed by savages, yet their
possession of arms, their skill in their use, and their numbers, made
their onslaughts formidable. On several occasions they effected their
entry into the forts by stratagem: a tale of misery told by a squaw; a
ball in a game struck toward the door of the stronghold; professedly
amicable conferences suddenly becoming massacres; such were the naive yet
successful ruses employed. Many lives were lost, and the border lands were
laid waste and panicstricken; but it was impossible for the Indians to
hold together, and their victories hastened their undoing. No general
engagement, of course, was fought, but Pontiac's authority gradually
abated, and he was finally compelled to go into retirement. His Conspiracy
has its picturesque side, but it is not organically related to our
history; it was merely a fresh expression of the familiar fact that there
could be no sincere friendship between the white and the red. The former
could live with the latter if they would live like them; but no attempt to
reverse the case could succeed. The solemnity with which the practice of
signing treaties of peace with the Indians has uniformly been kept up is
one of the curious features of our colonial annals, and indeed of later
times. Indians will keep the peace without treaties, if they are kindly
used and given liberty to do as they please; but no engagement is binding
on them after they deem themselves wronged. They are pleased by the
formalities, the speeches, and the gifts that accompany such conferences;
they like to exchange compliments, and to play with belts of wampum; and
it is possible that when they make their promises, they think they will
keep them. They can understand the advantages of trade, and will make some
sacrifice of their pride or convenience to secure them. But the mind is
never dominant in them; the tides of passion flood it, and their wild
nature carries them away. It may be surmised that we should have had fewer
Indian troubles, had we never entered into any treaty with them. But
thousands of treaties have been made, and broken, sometimes by one side,
sometimes by the other, but always by one of the two. And then,
punishments must be administered; but if punishment is for improvement, it
has been as ineffective as the treaties. The only rational thing to do
with an Indian is to kill him; and yet it may fairly be doubted whether
complete moral justification could be shown for the killing of any Indian
since Columbus landed at San Salvador.--As for Pontiac, a keg of liquor
was inducement sufficient to one of his own race to murder him, five years
after the failure of his revolt.

Toward the end of September, Jenkinson, Secretary of the Treasury in
England, presented the draft for an American stamp-tax--the true
authorship of which was never disclosed. This tax was the result of the
argument of exclusion applied to the problem, How to raise a permanent and
sufficient revenue from the colonies. Foreign and internal commerce taxes
would not serve, because such commerce was forbidden by the Navigation
Acts. A poll-tax would be inequitable to the slaveholders. Land-taxes
could not be collected. Exchequer-bills were against an act of Parliament.
Nothing but a stamp-tax remained, and all persons concerned were in favor
of it, the colonists only excepted. Their opinion was that taxation
without representation was an iniquity. But they did not perhaps consider
that England owed a debt of seven hundred million dollars which must be
provided for somehow; and that the interests of the empire demanded, in
the opinion of those who were at its head, that the colonies be ruled with
a stronger hand than heretofore. George Grenville accepted the
responsibility of the act.

The king gave his consent to the employment of the entire official force
of the colonies to prevent infringements of the Navigation Acts, and the
army and navy were to assist them. There were large emoluments for
seizures, and the right of search was unrestricted, afloat or ashore. In
order to diminish the danger of union between the colonies, a new
distribution, or alteration of boundaries, was adopted, with a view to
increasing their number. But the country between the Alleghanies and the
Mississippi was to be closed to colonization, lest it should prove
impossible to control settlers at such a distance. It proved, of course,
still less possible to prevent emigration thither. But all seemed going
well, and the Grenville ministry was so firmly established that nothing
seemed able to shake it. The fact that a young Virginia lawyer, Patrick
Henry by name, had said in the course of an argument against the claim of
a clergyman for the value of some tobacco, that a king who annuls salutary
laws is a tyrant, and forfeits all right to obedience; and that if
ministers fail to fulfill the uses for which they were ordained, the
community may justly strip them of their appointments--this circumstance
probably did not come to the ears of the British ministry; but it had its
effect in Virginia. Grenville, however, was induced by the appeals of some
influential Americans in London to postpone his tax for a year, so that
the assemblies might have an opportunity to consent to it. By way of
tempting them to do this, he sought for special inducements; he revived
the hemp and flax bounties; he permitted rice to be carried south of
Carolina and Georgia on payment of half subsidy; and he removed the
restrictions on the New England whale fishery. He then informed Parliament
of his purpose of applying the stamp-tax to America, and asked if any
member wished to question the right of Parliament to impose such a tax. In
a full house, not a single person rose to object. The king gave it his
"hearty" approval. It only remained for America humbly and gratefully to
accept it.

First came comments. "If taxes are laid upon us in any shape, without our
having a legal representation where they are laid, are we not reduced from
the character of free subjects to the miserable state of tributary
slaves?" asked Samuel Adams of Boston. "These duties are only the
beginning of evils," said Livingston of New York. "Acts of Parliament
against natural equity are void," Otis affirmed; and in a lucid and cogent
analysis of the principles and ends of government he pointed out that the
best good of the people could be secured only by a supreme legislative and
executive ultimately in the people; but a universal congress being
impracticable, representation was substituted: "but to bring the powers of
all into the hands of one or some few, and to make them hereditary, is the
interested work of the weak and wicked. Nothing but life and liberty are
actually hereditable.... British colonists do not hold their liberties or
their lands by so slippery a tenure as the will of princes; the colonists
are common children of the same Creator with their brethren in Great
Britain.... A time may come when Parliament shall declare every American
charter void; but the natural, inherent rights of the colonists as men and
citizens can never be abolished. The colonists know the blood and treasure
independence would cost. They will never think of it till driven to it as
the last fatal resort against ministerial oppression: but human nature
must and will be rescued from the general slavery that has so long
triumphed over the species." The immediate practical result was, that the
colonists pledged themselves to use nothing of English manufacture, even
to going without lamb to save wool. And even Hutchinson remarked that if
England had paid as much for the support of the wars as had been
voluntarily paid by the colonists, there would have been no great increase
in the national debt.

All this made no impression in England. The dregs of the Canadian
population were a handful of disreputable Protestant ex-officers, traders
and publicans--"the most immoral collection of men I ever knew," as Murray
said--but judges and juries were selected from these gentry, and the
Catholics were disfranchised. In New England, boundaries were rearranged,
and colonists had to buy new titles. New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island,
protested before Parliament against the taxation scheme; Philadelphia at
first petitioned to be delivered from the selfishness of its proprietors
even at the cost of becoming a royal colony; but later, Franklin advised
that they grant supplies to the crown only when required of them "in the
usual constitutional manner." George Wythe, speaking for Virginia,
remonstrated against measures "fitter for exiles driven from their country
after ignominiously forfeiting its favor and protection, than for the
posterity of loyal Britons." Yet there were many royalist Americans who
were urgent that English rule should be strengthened; and the English
Board of Trade declared that the protests of the colonies showed "a most
indecent disrespect to the legislature of Great Britain." The king decreed
that in all military matters in America the orders of the
commander-in-chief there, and under him of the brigadiers, should be
supreme; and only in the absence of these officers might the governors
give the word. This became important on the occasion of the "Boston
Massacre" a few years later. In Parliament, Grenville said that he would
never lend a hand toward forging chains for America, "lest in so doing I
forge them for myself"; but he shuffled out of the American demand not to
be taxed without representation by declaring that Parliament was "the
common council of the whole empire," and added that America was to all
intents and purposes as much represented in Parliament as many Englishmen.
This assertion brought to his feet Barré, the companion of Wolfe at
Quebec. He denied that America was virtually represented, and said that
the House was ignorant of American affairs. Charles Townshend, who posed
as an infallible authority on America, replied that the last war had cost
the colonies little though they had profited much by it; and now these
"American children, planted by our care, nourished up to strength and
opulence by our indulgence, and protected by our arms, grudge to
contribute their mite to relieve us from the heavy burden under which we
lie."

Barré could not restrain his indignation. In the course of a fiery
rejoinder he uttered truths that made him the most loved Englishman in
America, when his words were published there. "Your oppressions planted
them in America," he thundered. "They met with pleasure all hardships
compared with those they suffered in their own country. They grew by your
neglect of them: as soon as you began to care for them, deputies of
members of this house were sent to spy out their liberties, to
misrepresent their actions, and to prey upon them; men whose behavior
caused the blood of those Sons of Liberty to recoil within them: men who
were often glad, by going to a foreign country, to escape being brought to
the bar of justice in their own. They 'protected by your arms'?--They
have, amid their constant and laborious industry, nobly taken up arms for
the defense of a country whose frontier was drenched in blood, while its
interior parts yielded all its little savings to your emolument. And
believe me--remember--the same spirit of freedom which actuated that
people at first will accompany them still. They are as truly loyal as any
subjects the king has; but a people jealous of their liberties, and who
will vindicate them, if ever they should be violated." But Grenville had
gone too far to retreat; the case went against America by two hundred and
forty-five to forty-nine; and only Beckford and Conway were on record as
denying the power of Parliament to enact the tax. All petitions from the
colonies were refused. "We have power to tax them, and we will tax them,"
said one of the ministers. In the House of Lords the bill was agreed to
without debate or dissent. The king, at the time of signing the bill, was
suffering from one of his periodic attacks of insanity; but the
ratification was accepted as valid nevertheless. Neither Franklin nor any
of the other American agents imagined the act would be forcibly resisted
in America. Even Otis had said, "We must submit." But they reckoned
without their host. The stamp act was a two-edged sword; in aiming to cut
down the liberties of America, it severed the bonds that tied her to the
mother country.

The prospect before the colonies was truly intolerable. No product of
their industry could be exported save to England; none but English ships
might enter their ports; no wool might be moved from one part of the
country to another; no Bible might be printed anywhere; all hats must come
from England; no ore might be mined or worked; duties were imposed on
almost every imported article of use or luxury. No marriage, promissory
note, or other transaction requiring documentary record was valid except
with the government stamp. In a word, convicts in a jail could hardly be
shackled more severely than were these two millions of the most
freedom-loving and intelligent people on the globe. "If this system were
to prevail," remarked Thacher of Boston, "it would extinguish the flame of
liberty all over the world."

But it was not to prevail. Patrick Henry had been elected to the
legislature of Virginia. His first act was to maintain, in committee of
the whole, that the colony had never given up its right to be governed by
its own laws respecting taxation, and that it had been constantly
recognized by England; and that any attempt to vest such power in other
persons tended to destroy British as well as American freedom. In a
passionate peroration he warned George III. to remember the fate of other
tyrants who had trampled on popular liberties. Otis in Massachusetts
suggested the novel idea of summoning a congress from all the colonies to
deliberate on the situation. In New York a writer declared that while
there was no disposition among the colonies to break with England as long
as they were permitted their full rights, yet they would be "satisfied
with no less."--"The Gospel promises liberty and permits resistance," said
Mayhew. Finally, the dauntless and faithful Christopher Gadsden of South
Carolina, after considering Massachusett's suggestion of a union,
pronounced, as head of the committee, in its favor.

In England, meanwhile, the cause of the colonies had been somewhat
favored by the willfulness of the king, who, in order to bring his court
favorites into power, dismissed the Grenville ministry. There were no
persons of ability in the new cabinet, and vacant feebleness was accounted
better for America than resolute will to oppress. The king himself,
however, never wavered in his resolve that the colonies should be taxed.
On the other hand, the colonies were at this time disposed to think that
the king was friendly to their liberties. But whatever misapprehensions
existed on either side were soon to be finally dispelled.

In August, 1765, the names of the stamp distributers (who were to be
citizens of the colonies) were published in America; and the packages of
stamped paper were dispatched from England. There was an old elm-tree in
Boston, standing near the corner of Essex Street, opposite Boylston
Market. On the morning of the 14th of August, two figures were descried by
early pedestrians hanging from the lower branches of the tree. "They were
dressed in square-skirted coats and small-clothes, and as their wigs hung
down over their faces, they looked like real men. One was intended to
represent the Earl of Bute, who was supposed to have advised the king to
tax America; the other was meant for the effigy of Andrew Oliver, a
gentleman belonging to one of the most respectable families in
Massachusetts, whom the king had appointed to be the distributer of
stamps." It was in vain that Hutchinson ordered the removal of the
effigies; the people had the matter in their own hands. In the evening a
great and orderly crowd marched behind a bier bearing the figures, gave
three cheers for "Liberty, Property and no stamps," before the State
House, where the governor and Hutchinson were in session, and thence went
to the house which Oliver had intended for his stamp office, tore it down,
and burned his image in the fire they kindled with it, in front of his own
residence. "Death to the man who offers stamped paper to sell!" they
shouted. "Beat an alarm!" quavered Hutchinson to the militia colonel.--"My
drummers are in the mob," was the reply; and when Hutchinson attempted to
disperse the crowd, they forced him to run the gantlet, in the Indian
fashion which was too familiar to New Englanders, and caught him several
raps as he ran. "If Oliver had been there he'd have been murdered," said
Governor Bernard, with conviction; "if he doesn't resign--!" But Oliver,
much as he loved the perquisites of the office, loved his life more, and
he resigned before the mob could threaten him. Bernard, with chattering
teeth, was ensconced in the safest room in the castle. There remained
Hutchinson, in his handsome house in Garden Court Street, near the North
Square. Late at night the mob came surging and roaring in that direction.
As they turned into Garden Court Street, the sound of them was as if a
wild beast had broken loose and was howling for its prey. From the window,
the terrified chief-justice beheld "an immense concourse of people,
rolling onward like a tempestuous flood that had swelled beyond its bounds
and would sweep everything before it. He felt, at that moment, that the
wrath of the people was a thousand-fold more terrible than the wrath of a
king. That was a moment when an aristocrat and a loyalist might have
learned how powerless are kings, nobles, and great men, when the low and
humble range themselves against them. Had Hutchinson understood and
remembered this lesson he need not in after years have been an exile from
his native country, nor finally have laid his bones in a distant land."

The mob broke into the house, destroyed the valuable furniture, pictures
and library, and completely gutted it. The act was denounced and
repudiated by the better class of patriots, like Adams and Mayhew; but it
served a good purpose. The voice of the infuriated mob is sometimes the
only one that tyranny can hear. One after another all the colonies refused
to accept the stamp act, and every stamp officer was obliged to resign.
Meanwhile the leaders discussed the people's rights openly. The law was to
go into effect on November 1st. "Will you violate the law of Parliament?"
was asked. "The stamp act is against Magna Charta, and Lord Coke says an
act of Parliament against Magna Charta is for that reason void," was the
reply. "Rulers are attorneys, agents and trustees of the people," said
Adams, "and if the trust is betrayed or wantonly trifled away, the people
have a right to revoke the authority that they themselves have deputed,
and to constitute abler and better agents. We have an indisputable right
to demand our privileges against all the power and authority on earth."
Never had there been such unanimity throughout the colonies; but in New
York, General Gage, who had betrayed lack of courage under Amherst a few
years before, but who was now commander-in-chief, declared he would put
down disaffection with a strong hand. There were ships of war in the
harbor, and the fort in the town mounted heavy guns. Major James of the
artillery was intrusted with the preparations. "I'll cram the stamps down
their throats with the end of my sword: if they attempt to rise I'll drive
them out of town for a pack of rascals, with four and twenty men!" It was
easy to pass a stamp act, and to bring stamped paper into the colonies;
but it would take more than Major James, and Governor Golden, and General
Gage himself to make the people swallow them. The day of the "Sons of
Liberty" was dawning.



CHAPTER THIRTEENTH

THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON


Issue was now joined between America and England. They faced each other
--the great, historic figure, and the stripling of a century--and knew
that the limit had been reached. The next move might be irrevocable.

"You must submit to the tax."--"I will not submit."

Englishmen, with some few eminent exceptions, believed that England was
in the right. If the word of Parliament was not law, what was? If the law
it made could be disregarded, what could stand? A colony was a child:
children must be kept in subjection. Colonies were planted for the benefit
and extension of commerce; if they were permitted to conduct their
commerce without regard to the mother country, their reason for existence
was gone. The protection of a colony was expensive: why should not the
protected one bear a part at least of the expense? If the mother country
allowed the colony to fix the amount it should pay, what guarantee could
she have that it would pay anything? Could mighty England assume toward
little America the attitude of a tradesman, humbly standing at the door
with a bill, asking whether it would be convenient to pay something on
account? If there were to be condescension, it should not come from
America. She clamored for justice; England would be just: but she must
first be obeyed. England might forgive the debt, but must insist upon
acknowledgment that the debt was due, and upon the right to collect it at
pleasure. As for the plea that taxation should postulate representation,
it would not bear examination. It might be true that Parliament was a
theoretically representative body; but, in fact, it was a gathering of the
men in England best qualified to govern, who were rather selected than
elected. Many of the commons held their seats by favor of the nobility;
the suffrage, as practiced, was a recognition that the people might have a
voice in the government of the country; but that voice was not to be a
deciding one. It was exercised only by a part of the people, and even
then, largely under advice or influence. Many important towns and
districts had no representatives. Americans were as well off as these
Englishmen; on what ground could they demand to be better off? They must
trust to the will of England to secure their advantage in securing her
own; to her wisdom, equity, and benevolence. Why should they complain of
the Navigation Acts? What more did they want than a market?--and that,
England afforded. Why should they feel aggrieved at the restriction on
their manufactures? England could manufacture articles better than they
could, and it was necessary to the well-being of her manufacturing classes
that they should be free from American competition. Did they object to the
measures England took to prevent smuggling and illicit dealing?--They had
only themselves to blame: was it not notorious that evasions and open
violations of the law had for years existed? Did they object to royal
governors?--What better expedient was there to keep the two countries in
touch with each other--to maintain that "representation" in England which
they craved?--whereas, were they to choose governors from among
themselves, they would soon drift away from sympathy with and
understanding of England. And why all this uproar about the stamp tax?
What easier, more equitable way could be devised to get the financial
tribute required without pressing hard on any one? If Americans would
object to that, they would object to anything; and they must either be
abandoned entirely to their own devices--which of course was out of the
question--or they must be compelled, if they would not do it voluntarily,
to accede to it. Compulsion meant force; force meant a resident English
army; and that army must be supported and accommodated by those for whose
regulation it was established.

Such was the attitude of men like Lord Chief-justice Mansfield, who spoke
on the subject in the House of Lords. He refused to recognize any
essential distinction between external and internal taxes; though, as Pitt
pointed out, the former was designed for the regulation of trade, and
whatever profit arose from it was incidental; while the latter was imposed
to raise revenue for the home government, and was, in effect, arbitrarily
appropriating the property of subjects without their consent asked or
obtained. Pitt disposed of the argument of virtual representation by
denying it point-blank; Americans were not in the same position with those
Englishmen who were not directly represented in Parliament; because the
latter were inhabitants of the kingdom, and could be, and were indirectly
represented in a hundred ways. But while opposing the right of Parliament
to rob America, he asserted in the strongest terms its right to govern
her. "The will of Parliament, properly signified, must forever keep the
colonies dependent upon the sovereign kingdom of Great Britain. If any
idea of renouncing allegiance has existed, it was but a momentary frenzy.
In a good cause, the force of this country can crush America to atoms. But
on this ground of the stamp act, I am one who will lift up my hands
against it. I rejoice that America has resisted. In such a cause, your
success would be hazardous. America, if she fell, would embrace the pillar
of the state, and pull down the constitution along with her."

The Lords passed the bill against a minority of five. In the Commons,
where Burke ardently spoke in favor of the tax, the majority was even
greater. "It was decided that irresponsible taxation was not a tyranny but
a vested right; that Parliament held legislative power, not as a
representative body but in absolute trust: that it was not and had never
been responsible to the people." This was the new Toryism, which was to
create a new opposition. The debate aroused a discussion of popular rights
in England itself, and the press began to advocate genuine representation.
Meanwhile, it looked ill for the colonies. But a law which is only
engrossed on parchment, and is not also founded in natural truth and
justice, has no binding power, even though it be supported by the army and
navy of England. Humanity was on the side of America, and made her small
numbers and physical weakness as strong as all that is good and right in
the world. All appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, there is
nothing real but right. Had America fought only for herself, she would
have failed.

The instances of mob violence in the colonies at this period were not to
be classed with lawless outbreaks in countries which have a government of
their own. The colonies were subjected to a government which they did not
elect or approve; and the management of their affairs consequently
reverted inevitably and rightly to the body of the people themselves. They
had no officers and no organization, but they knew what they wanted; and
having in view the slowness of inter-communication, and the differences in
the ideas and customs of the several colonies, the unanimity of their
action in the present juncture is surprising. When their congress met in
New York on the 7th of October, 1765, their debate was less as to
principles than as to the manner of their declaration and enforcement. The
watchword, "Join or die," had been started in September, and was taken up
all over the country. Union was strength, and on union all were resolved.
The mob had put a stop to the execution of the law; it now rested with the
congress to settle in what way and on what grounds the repeal of the law
should be demanded. Against the people and the congress were arrayed the
royal governors and other officials, and the troops. The former deluged
the home government with exhortations to be firm; the latter waited the
word to act, not without misgivings; for here were two million
inhabitants, a third or fourth part of whom might bear arms.

Should the congress base its liberties on charter rights, or on natural
justice and universal reason?--On the latter, said Gadsden of South
Carolina; and the rest acceded. "I wish," Gadsden had said, "that the
charters may not ensnare us at last by drawing different colonies to act
differently in this great cause. There ought to be no New England man, no
New Yorker, known on the continent, but all Americans." It was a great
truth to be enunciated at that time. There were statesmen less wise in
this country a hundred years later. The Duke of Choiseul, premier of
France, and one of the acutest ministers that ever lived, foresaw the
independence of America, and even so early began to take measures having
in view the attitude of France in that contingency.--In the congress, Otis
advocated repeal, not of the stamp act alone, but of all acts laying a
duty on trade; and it was finally agreed to mention the latter as
grievances. Trial by jury was stipulated for instead of admiralty
jurisdiction; taxes should be imposed only by colonial legislatures,
representation in Parliament being impracticable. One or two of the
delegates feared to sign the document embodying these views and demands;
whereupon Dyer of Connecticut observed that since disunion in these
matters was fatal, the remaining delegates ought to sign them; and this
was done, only Ruggles and Ogden, of Massachusetts and of New Jersey
respectively, declining. By this act the colonies became "a bundle of
sticks which could neither be bent nor broken." At the same time, Samuel
Adams addressed a letter to Governor Bernard of Massachusetts. "To suppose
a right in Parliament to tax subjects without their consent includes the
idea of a despotic power," said he. "The stamp act cancels the very
conditions upon which our ancestors, with toil and blood and at their sole
expense, settled this country. It tends to destroy that mutual confidence
and affection, as well as that equality, which ought to subsist among all
his majesty's subjects: and what is worst of all evils, if his majesty's
subjects are not to be governed according to the known and stated rules of
the constitution, their minds may in time become disaffected."

On the 1st of November, the day when the act was to go into effect,
Colden, governor of New York, "resolved to have the stamps distributed."
The army and navy professed themselves ready to support him. But the
population rose up in a body against it, with Isaac Sears as leader. "If
you fire on us, we'll hang you," they told Colden. Torchlight processions,
with the governor's effigy burned in a bonfire composed of his own
carriages, right under the guns of the fort in which he had taken refuge,
followed. Colden capitulated, and even gave up the stamps into the custody
of the people. Similar scenes were enacted in the other colonies. The
principle of "union and liberty" became daily more deeply rooted. If
England refused to repeal the act, "we will repeal it ourselves," declared
the colonists. John Adams said that the colonies were already discharged
from allegiance, because they were "out of the king's protection"
--protection and allegiance being reciprocal. The Sons of Liberty became a
recognized organization. The press printed an admonition to George III.,
brief but pithy: GREAT SIR, RETREAT, OR YOU ARE RUINED. Otis maintained
that the king, by mismanaging colonial affairs, had practically abdicated,
so far as they were concerned. Israel Putnam, being of an active turn,
rode through Connecticut to count noses, and reported that he could raise
a force of ten thousand men. Meanwhile the routine business of the country
went on with but slight modification, though according to the stamp act
nothing that was done without a stamp was good in law. But it appeared,
upon experiment, that if the law was in the people it could be dispensed
with on paper. And wherever you went, you found a population smilingly
clad in homespun.

Would England repeal the act? The House of Lords voted in favor of
enforcing it, February, 1766. In the Commons, General Howard declared that
if it were passed, rather than imbrue his hands in the blood of his
countrymen, he would sheathe his sword in his own body. The House divided
two to one against the repeal. The king said he was willing to modify, but
not to repeal it. On the 13th Franklin was summoned to the bar. He showed
why the colonies could not and would not pay the tax, and that, unless it
were repealed, their affection for England, and the commerce depending
thereon, would be lost. Would America pay a modified stamp duty?--he was
asked; and bravely replied, "No: never: they will never submit to it." But
could not a military force carry the act into effect?--"They cannot force
a man to take stamps who chooses to do without them," was the answer. He
added that the colonists thought it hard that a body in which they were
not represented should make a merit of giving what was not its own but
theirs. He affirmed a difference between internal and external taxation,
because the former could not be evaded, whereas articles of consumption,
on which the duty formed part of the price, could be dispensed with at
will. "But what if necessaries of life should be taxed?" asked Grenville,
thinking he had Franklin on the hip. But the American sage crushingly
replied, "I do not know a single article imported into the colonies but
what they can either do without it, or make it for themselves."

In the final debates, Pitt, called on to say whether, should total repeal
be granted, in compliance with American menaces of resistance, the
consequence would not be the overthrow of British authority in America,
gave his voice for repeal as a right. Grenville, on the other hand,
thought that America should learn that "prayers are not to be brought to
Caesar through riot and sedition." The vote for repeal, and against
modified enforcement, was two hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and
sixty-seven. The dissenting members of the Lords signed a protest,
because, should they assent to the repeal merely because it had passed the
lower house, "we in effect vote ourselves useless." This suggests the "Je
ne vois pas la nécessité" of the French epigrammatist. The Lords took
themselves too seriously. Meanwhile, Bow bells were rung, Pitt was
cheered, and flags flew; the news was sent to America in fast packets, and
the rejoicing in the colonies was great. Prisoners for debt were set free,
there were illuminations and bonfires, and honor was paid to Pitt, Camden,
Barre, and to the king, who was eating his heart with vexation fit having
been compelled to assent to what he called "the fatal repeal."

The British government, while repealing the law, had yet affirmed its
sovereign authority over the colonies. The colonies, on the other hand,
were inclined to confirm their present advantage and take a step still
further in advance. They would not be taxed without representation; why
should they submit to any legislation whatever without representation?
What right had England to enforce the Navigation Acts? The more the
general situation was contemplated and discussed, the plainer to all did
it appear that union was indispensable. The governors of most of the
colonies were directing a treacherous attack against the charters; but
bold students of the drift of things were foreseeing a time when charters
might be superseded by independence. Patriots everywhere were keenly on
the watch for any symptoms of a design on Parliament's part to raise a
revenue from America. The presence and quartering of English soldiers in
the colonies was regarded as not only a burden, but an insinuation. It was
moreover a constant occasion of disturbance; for there was no love lost
between the people and the soldiers. But, that there was no disposition on
the people's part to pick quarrels or to borrow trouble, was evident from
their voluntarily passing resolutions for the reimbursement of persons,
like Hutchinson, who had suffered loss from the riots. If England would
treat them like reasonable creatures, they were more than willing to meet
her half way. It is probable that but for the royal governors, England and
America might have arrived at an amicable understanding; yet, in the
ultimate interests of both countries, it was better that the evil
counselors of the day should prevail.

Townshend, an able, eloquent, but entirely untrustworthy man, devoted to
affairs, and of insatiable though unprincipled ambition, proposed in
Parliament to formulate a plan to derive a permanent revenue from America.
This Parliament has been described by historians, and is convicted by its
record, as the most corrupt, profligate and unscrupulous in English
annals. William Pitt, who had accepted the title of Lord Chatham, and
entered the House of Lords, was nominally the leader, but his health and
failing faculties left him no real power. Shelburne, Secretary of State,
was moderate and liberal, but no match for Townshend's brilliancy. The
latter's proposal was to suspend the legislature of New York, as a
punishment for the insubordination of the colony and a warning to others;
to support a resident army, and to pay salaries to governors, judges and
other crown officers, out of the revenue from America; to establish
commissioners of the customs in the country; to legalize general writs of
assistance; to permit no native-born American to hold office under the
crown; and to make the revenue derivable from specified taxes on imports.
The tax on tea was among those particularly mentioned. This was the scheme
which was to be substituted for the repealed stamp tax; the colonies had
objected to that as internal; this was external, and, though Townshend had
refused to admit any difference between the two, he now employed it as a
means of bringing the colonies to terms. The measure was received with
acclaim by Parliament, though it was contrary to the real sentiment of the
English nation. The king was charmed with it. Townshend died soon after it
was passed, at the age of forty-one; and the king called on Lord North to
take his place; a man of infirm will, but able, well-informed and
clear-minded, with a settled predisposition against the cause of the
people. He was as good an enemy of America as Grenville himself, though a
less ill-natured one.

But, viewing this period broadly, it is manifest that the finest brains
and best hearts, both in England and America, were friends to the cause of
liberty. America, certainly, at this critical epoch in her career,
produced a remarkable band of statesmen and patriots, perfectly fitted to
the parts they had to play. The two Adamses, Gadsden, Franklin, Otis,
Patrick Henry, Livingstone of New York, John Hancock, the wealthy and
splendid Boston merchant, Hawley of Connecticut, and Washington,
meditating upon the liberties of his country in the retirement of Mount
Vernon, and unconsciously preparing himself to lead her armies through the
Revolution--there has never been a company of better men active at one
time in any country. Just at this juncture, too, there arose in Delaware a
prophet by the name of John Dickinson, who wrote under the title of The
Farmer, and who formulated an argument against the new revenue law which
caught the attention of all the colonies. England, he pointed out,
prohibits American manufactures; she now lays duties on importations, for
the purpose of revenue only. Americans were taking steps to establish a
league to abstain from purchasing any articles brought from England,
intending thus to defeat the operation of the act without breaking the
law. This might answer in the case of luxuries, or of things which could
be made at home. But what if England were to meet this move by laying a
duty on some necessary of life, and then forbid Americans to manufacture
it at home? Obviously, they would then be constrained to buy it, paying
the duty, and thus surrendering their freedom. From this point of view it
would not be enough to evade the tax; it must be repealed, or resisted;
and resistance meant war.

Unless, however, some action of an official character were taken, binding
the colonies to co-operation, it was evident that the law would gradually
go into effect. The Massachusetts assembly, early in 1768, sent to its
London agent a letter, composed by Samuel Adams, embodying their formal
protest to the articles of the revenue act and its corollaries. At the
same time, they sent copies of the statement to the other colonial
assemblies in the country, accompanied with the suggestion that all unite
in discontinuing the use of British imported manufactures and other
articles. The crown officers, for their part, renewed their appeal to
England for naval and military forces to compel obedience and secure order.

The king and the government inclined to think that force was the remedy
in this case. It was in vain that the more magnanimous called attention to
the fact that an army and navy could not compel a man to buy a black
broadcloth coat, if he liked a homespun one better. Inflammatory reports
from America represented it as being practically in a state of
insurrection. A Boston newspaper, which had published a severe arraignment
of Governor Bernard, was tried for libel, and the jury, though informed by
Hutchinson that if they did not convict of high treason they "might depend
on being damned," brought in a verdict of acquittal. The Adams letter was
laid before the English ministry and pronounced to be "of a most dangerous
and factious tendency," and an injunction was dispatched to the several
colonial governors to bid their assemblies to treat it with contempt, and
if they declined, to dissolve them. Gage was ordered to enforce
tranquillity. But the colonial resistance had thus far been passive only.
The assemblies now declared that they had exclusive right to tax the
people; Virginia not only agreed to the Adams letter, but indited one even
more uncompromising; Pennsylvania and New York fell into line. A Boston
committee presented an address to Bernard asking him to mediate between
the people and England; he promised to do so, but at the same time sent
out secret requests to have regiments sent to Boston. Divining his
duplicity, John Adams, at the next town meeting, formulated the people's
resolve to vindicate their rights "at the utmost hazard of their lives and
fortunes," declaring that whosoever should solicit the importation of
troops was "an enemy to this town and province." The determination not to
rescind the principles stated in the Samuel Adams letter of January was
unanimous. Lord Mansfield thereupon declared that the Americans must be
reduced to entire obedience before their alleged grievances could be
considered. Camden confessed that he did not know what to do; the law must
be executed: but how? "If any province is to be chastised, it should be
Boston." Finally, two regiments and a squadron were ordered to Boston from
Halifax. Samuel Adams felt that the time was now at hand either for
independence or annihilation, and he affirmed publicly that the colonists
would be justified in "destroying every British soldier whose foot should
touch the shore." In the country round Boston, thirty thousand men were
ready to fight. A meeting was called in Faneuil Hall, and it resolved that
"the inhabitants of the Town of Boston will at the utmost peril of their
lives and fortunes maintain and defend their rights, liberties, privileges
and immunities."--"And," said Otis, pointing to four hundred muskets which
had been collected, "there are your arms; when an attempt is made against
your liberties, they will be delivered." Bernard, who was pale with alarm,
had to announce that the regiments were coming, and would be quartered,
one in Castle William, the other on the town. The council replied that
there was room enough in the Castle for both, and that, according to the
law, any officer attempting to use private houses would be cashiered. In
the midst of the dispute, the regiments arrived. The convention had, from
the first, law on their side; and in order to preserve this advantage were
determined to offer only a passive resistance to the revenue law, and to
abstain from violence until it was offered to them. No charge of high
treason would stand against any one. The anchoring of the squadron off
Castle William, with guns trained on the State House, had no effect. On
the first of October, in compliance with an order from Gage, and in the
absence of Bernard, who had fled to the country in a panic, the regiments
were landed at Long Wharf. With military music playing, fixed bayonets and
loaded guns, they marched to the Common, which was whitened by their
tents. An artillery train was also brought ashore. An attempt to browbeat
the people into providing quarters failed, and the officers dared not
seize them. At length they were obliged to rent rooms, and some of the men
were lodged in the State House, as the weather became too cold for outdoor
encampment; not a few of them deserted, and escaped into the country. But
Boston was under military rule, though there was nothing for the soldiers
to do. Sentinels were posted about the town, and citizens were challenged
as they walked their streets. On the Sabbath Day, drums and bugles
disturbed the worshipers in the churches. Officers of the custom house and
army officers met at the British coffee house in King Street. On the south
side of the State House was a court of guard, defended by two brass
cannon, and a large number of soldiers were kept there; in front of the
custom house, further down the street, a sentinel paced his beat. Boston
was indignant, but restricted itself to ceasing all purchases of
importations, trusting thus to wear out their oppressors. Some of the
younger men, however, were becoming restive under the implied or overt
insults of the officers and soldiery, and there were occasional quarrels
which might develop into something more serious. It was at this time that
the French inhabitants of New Orleans rose and drove out the Spanish
governor, Ulloa; and Du Chatelet remarked that it was "a good example for
the English colonies." But Boston needed no example; she afforded one in
herself. All the other colonies had indorsed her attitude; but the
animosity of England was concentrated against her. The whole kingdom was
embattled against the one small town; two more regiments had been sent
there, but no rebellion could be found. Was it the purpose to provoke one?
Soldiers, from time to time, were arrested for misdemeanors, and brought
before the civil magistrates, but were pardoned, when convicted, by the
higher courts. Samuel Adams and others, on the other hand, continued to be
threatened with prosecution for treason, but did not recede from their
position. Bernard, Hutchinson, Oliver, and the attorney-general acted as
secret informers and purveyors of evidence against the patriots. All
petitions from the colonies addressed to the English government were
refused so much as a hearing. And yet there was a strong division of
opinion in Parliament as to the course England was taking; and there were
many who wished that the question of taxation had never been raised. In
1769, it was conceded that the duties on most specified articles should be
abolished; nevertheless, Hillsborough, Secretary for the Colonies, said
that he would "grant nothing to Americans except what they might ask with
a halter round their necks"; and the great Samuel Johnson did not scruple
to add that "they are a race of convicts, and ought to be thankful for
anything we allow them short of hanging." Against such intemperate
vaporings are to be set the noble resolutions of the Virginia assembly, of
which Jefferson, Patrick Henry and Washington were members, extending its
sympathy and support to Massachusetts, warning King George against
carrying Americans beyond seas for trial, and advocating colonial union.
This was the more admirable, because England had treated Virginia with
especial tenderness and consideration. Similar resolutions in other
colonies followed, and a regular correspondence between the assemblies was
agreed to. The folly of English oppression had already created a united
America.

At length the English government, weakened by the opposition, and by the
badness of their cause, agreed to abolish all duties except that on tea,
which was now bought cheaper in Boston than in London; and to withdraw two
at least of the regiments. But Boston was contending for a principle, not
for a few hundred pounds, and refused to accept the tea as a compromise.
Much more conducive to good feeling was the recall of Governor Bernard,
just as he was making himself comfortable for a long tenure of office
under the protection of British soldiers. This man's character is as
contemptible as any in colonial history. It was not merely or chiefly that
he was an abject miser and a foe to liberty. He was a convicted liar, a
spy, and a double-dealer; and his cowardice made him despised even by the
British. He scrupled not to swindle the British government, by conniving
at smuggling, while assuring them of his zeal in putting it down. While
smiling in men's faces, he was covertly laying plots for their
destruction. His last thought, after receiving the crushing news of his
recall, was to try to beguile the assembly into voting him his salary for
the coming year. The attempt failed, and he retreated in disgrace, with
joy-bells ringing in his ears. His only consolation was that he left
Hutchinson in his place, as ill-disposed toward liberty and honor as
himself, and his superior in intelligence. His recall had been due to the
desire of London merchants, who believed that his presence was destructive
of their commercial interests. The ministers for whom he had incurred so
much ignominy would do nothing for him; for the dishonorable are always
ready to sacrifice their instruments.

Hutchinson immediately began the system of secret conspiracy against the
lives and liberties of the chief citizens of Boston which marked his
administration; flattering them in their presence, while writing letters
of false accusations to the English ministry, which he begged them never
to disclose. But his cowardice was equal to Bernard's; so that when the
people detected an informer, and tarred and feathered him, he dared not
order the English regiments to interfere, and no one else was qualified to
give the word. But the hatred between the soldiers and the citizens was
inflamed. A British officer told his men, if they were "touched" by a
citizen, to "run him through the body." Many young men went armed with
oaken cudgels.

Two sons of Hutchinson, worthy of their sire, were guilty of felony in
breaking a lock to get at a consignment of tea, which had been locked up
by the committee of merchants. The merchants called Hutchinson to account;
he promised to deposit the price of what tea had been sold and to return
the rest. Dalrymple, the commander, issued twelve rounds of ammunition,
with which the soldiers ostentatiously paraded the streets. But inasmuch
as no one but the governor was authorized to bid them fire, and the
citizens knew Hutchinson's timidity too well to imagine that he would do
such a thing, this only led to taunts and revilings; and such epithets as
"lobster-backs" and "damned rebels" were freely bandied between the
military and the young men. The officers made common cause with their men,
and the custom house people fomented the bitterness. A vague plan seems to
have been formed to provoke the citizens into attacking the military, who
were then to fire, and plead self-defense.

On Friday, March 2, 1770, some soldiers came to blows with men employed
on a rope-walk. The affair was talked over in the barracks, and nothing
was done to restrain the desire of the soldiers for revenge, or to keep
them off the streets at night. On the 5th, squads of them were forging
about, armed with bludgeons, bayonets and cutlasses, boasting of their
"valor," challenging the people they met, and even striking them. Their
officers openly encouraged them. Their regiments were the Fourteenth and
the Twenty-ninth, notorious for their dissoluteness and disorderliness.
The night was cold, and a few inches of snow fell. Other groups of
soldiers came out, with their flintlocks in their hands: a boy was struck
on the head; several times the guns were leveled, and the threat was made
to fire. One youth was knocked down with a cutlass. Knots of angry young
men began to range hither and thither with staves:--"Where are they?
--Cowards!--Fire if you dare!--Lobster-scoundrels!" The soldiers, on the
other hand, were giving way to fury, striking persons in the doors of
their houses, calling out that they would kill everybody, and shouting
"Fire--fire!" as if it were a watchword. But as yet no irrevocable act had
been done.

Soon after nine o'clock, however, the alarm bell at the top of King
Street was rung hurriedly. Many persons thought it was for fire; and as
Boston had been nearly destroyed by a great fire ten years before, a large
crowd rapidly poured out into the streets. But the frosty air carried no
scent of smoke, and as the bell soon stopped its clangor, a number
returned to their homes; but the younger and more hot-headed smelled
mischief, if not smoke, and drew from various directions toward the
barracks. A party of them came down King Street toward the custom house.
They were halted by the gruff "Who goes there?" of the sentry, and his
bayonet at their breasts.

There were words of defiance: a sudden scuffle: and out of the barrack
gate came pouring the guard, with guns in their hands. Almost in the same
moment a great multitude of citizens came surging in from all sides, and
thronged in front of the custom house, where the fight seemed to be going
on. Those behind pushed against those in front, and all became wedged in a
mass, trying to see what was going forward, swaying this way and that,
uttering broken shouts, threatening, warning, asking, replying; and hot at
heart with that fierce craving to measure strength against strength which
is the characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon when his blood is up. The
soldiers were wholly in the wrong: they had no right to be where they
were; they had no right to wantonly annoy and provoke citizens in their
own town; their presence in the colony, for the purpose of constraining a
peaceful population, was a crime; but consciousness of this fact did not
lessen their animosity. As for the Boston people, they felt, as they faced
the emissaries of their oppressors on that wintry night, the accumulated
exasperation of generations of injustice, and perhaps a stern thrill of
joy that now, at last, the final, unforgivable outrage was to be
perpetrated.

The great majority of citizens had not even sticks in their hands; none
of them carried guns or cutlasses. Some snowballs were thrown at the
soldiers, who faced the crowd with savage faces, and leveled bayonets.
Then there was a fresh crowding and uproar, for Captain Preston and a
squad of eight men had issued from the guard house and were forcing their
way to their comrades with the point of the cold steel. Their red coats
and black shakos and the glint of the moonlight on their weapons made them
conspicuous in the struggling mass, and the sinister intent which was
manifest in their look and bearing sent a strange thrill through the
multitude.

A tall man in a black cloak, who five years later was a general of
artillery in the American army, laid his hand on Preston's shoulder
forcibly. "For God's sake, sir, get back to your barracks; if you fire,
you must die for it!" exclaimed he, in a deep voice. Preston stared at
him, hardly seeming to see him, and quivering with agitation. "Stand aside
--I know what I'm about," he replied huskily. As the soldiers reached the
sentinel's post and faced about in a semicircle, the crowd fell back, and
there were voices calling "Home--home!" The soldiers began to load,
pouring the powder and ball into the muzzles of their guns, and ramming
the charge home sharply with their ramrods. At this, a dozen men, with
cudgels, advanced upon the soldiers, cheering, and passed in front of
them, striking the barrels of their muskets with their sticks. "Cowardly
rascals!--drop your guns, and we're ready for you," said some between
their gritted teeth. "Fire, lobsters!--you daren't fire!" cried others.
"Down with 'em! drive the cowards to their barracks!" shouted some. "Are
your men loaded?" demanded a citizen, stepping up to Preston; and when the
latter nodded--"Will they fire upon the inhabitants?"--"Not without my
orders," the captain seemed to say. "Come on, you rascals--fire if you
dare--you daren't fire!" yelled the fiercer spirits, now beside themselves
with passion; and one struck a soldier's piece. He leveled it and fired,
at the same moment that Preston waved his sword and gave the word. A man
fell at the shot: the people gave back; the other soldiers fired
deliberately and viciously, not in a volley, but one after another, taking
aim. Some of them started forward to use the bayonet. It is said that a
figure was seen to come out on the balcony of the custom house, his face
concealed by a veil hanging down over it, and fire into the retreating
throng. The open space in front of the soldiers was overhung with smoke,
which slowly dissolved away, and revealed eleven New Englanders stretched
along the trodden snow of their native town. Some tried to rise; others
lay still. Blood flowed from their wounds, smoking in the icy air, and
tinging the white snow red. The deed had been done.

A sullen muttering of horror, swelling by degrees into a roar of rage,
burst from hundreds of throats as that spectacle was seen; and in a
moment, as it seemed, the town drums had beat to arms, the bells were
clanging, and all Boston was pressing tumultuously into King Street. The
Twenty-ninth regiment was hurriedly marshaled under arms; it appeared at
first as if the populace, thousands strong, and not without weapons, would
rush upon them and tear them in pieces. But by this time the saner and
stronger men had reached the scene, and set themselves resolutely to
withhold the people. "You shall have justice," they told them, "but let it
be by due course of law." And there was Hutchinson, promising everything
in his dismay, hurrying between the soldiers and the crowd, his feet
making blood-stained marks in the snow as he went. To no man more than to
him was due the guilt of that night's work.

Prompt and clean measures were taken: a town-meeting was held, and the
immediate withdrawal of all troops from Boston was required. The wretched
Hutchinson tried to temporize: he denied that he had power to move the
soldiers; then he consented to send one regiment away, letting the other
remain; the people would accept no compromise; Dalrymple said that he
would do as the governor directed. Samuel Adams and Hutchinson finally
faced each other in Faneuil Hall. "If you have power to remove one
regiment, you have power to remove both," said Adams, in a low but
distinct voice, pointing his finger at the other. "Here are three thousand
people: they are becoming very impatient: the country is in general
motion: night is approaching: an immediate answer is expected: it is at
your peril if you refuse." And describing the scene afterward, Adams said,
"at the appearance of the determined citizens, peremptorily demanding
redress of grievances, I saw his knees tremble and his face grow pale: and
I enjoyed the sight!" Truly, it was a subject for a great artist to
immortalize. The troops must go: and they went, choking with humiliation.

The news of this affair in England shocked the more reasonable people,
and led to criticism of the ministers; but Lord North, supported by the
king, would not consent to remove the tax on tea. He made it "a test of
authority," and a punishment for "American insolence." It was an expensive
punishment for England; the cost of keeping an army in the colonies, and
other incidental expenses, footed up about half a million dollars, against
a revenue from duties of four hundred dollars only. Americans got their
tea from the Dutch by smuggling and by corrupt connivance of the English
customs officers; and the loss of the English East India Company was
estimated at two and a half million dollars at least. There was great
uneasiness at this absurd showing; and Burke declared that "the idea of a
military establishment in America is all wrong." Lord Chatham, reading the
letters from Boston patriots, and resolutions of assemblies, remarked,
"These worthy New Englanders ever feel as Old Englanders ought to feel."
The colonists, however, zealous as they were for their liberties, were
ready to meet half way any effort toward conciliation on England's part.
The agreement to accept no British imports was but slackly kept, in spite
of protests from South Carolina and elsewhere. The people were wearied of
strife and would have welcomed any honorable means of peace. In this
juncture, two things only kept alive the spirit of independence; neither
would have sufficed apart from the other. The first was the pig-headedness
of the English government, with the king at the head of it, and men like
Thurlow, an irreconcilable foe to America, assisting; together with the
conspiracy against the colonies of the royal governors and officials, who
sent home false and exaggerated reports, all aiming to show that martial
law was the only thing that could insure order--or, in other words, secure
them their salaries and perquisites. These persons, by continually
irritating the raw place, prevented the colonists from forgetting their
injuries. In South Carolina, Governor Tryon, a bloody-minded Irishman,
went further; he took the field against the "Regulators"--a body of
citizens who had organized to counteract the lawlessness of the internal
conduct of the colony--and after a skirmish took a number of them
prisoners and hanged them out of hand; most of the rest, to save their
lives, took to the woods and, journeying westward, came upon the lovely
vales of Tennessee, which was thus settled. Daniel Boone had already made
himself at home in Kentucky. In Virginia, where the people were disposed
to loyalty, the agitation to do away with slavery, both on practical and
moral grounds, was harshly opposed by England, and the other colonies,
sympathizing with her action, were snubbed along with her. In short, the
pompous and hide-bound Hillsborough followed everywhere the policy of
alienation, under the impression that he was maintaining English dignity.

But all this would not have sufficed to keep the colonies on their course
toward independence, had it not been for the ceaseless vigilance and
foresight of Samuel Adams in Boston, Benjamin Franklin in London, and the
small but eminent band of patriots whom they worked with. Adams,
profoundly meditating on the signs of the times and the qualities of human
nature, perceived that England would continue to oppress, and that the
longer the colonies abstained from open resistance, the more difficult
would the inevitable revolt become. He did not hesitate, therefore, to
speak in ever plainer and bolder terms as the peril augmented. Reason was
on his side, and his command of logic and of terse and telling language
enabled him to set his cause in the most effective light. By drawing a
distinction between the king and his ministers, he opened the way to
arraign the latter for their "wickedness" in sending an "impudent mandate"
to one assembly to rescind the lawful resolution of another. The too eager
Hutchinson fell into the trap, and pointed out that it was the king,
rather than the ministry, who must be charged with impudence. But this was
not to disprove the impudence; it was simply to make the king instead of
the ministry obnoxious to the charge, and to enlighten the people as to
who their real enemy was. "The king," said Adams, "has placed us in a
position where we must either pay no tax at all, or pay it in accordance
with his good pleasure"--against the charter and the constitution. "The
liberties of our country," he went on, "are worth defending at all
hazards. Every step has been taken but one: and the last appeal requires
prudence, fortitude and unanimity. America must herself, under God, work
out her own salvation." He set resolutely to work to put into execution
his plan of a committee of correspondence, to elicit and stimulate the
patriotic views of the various colonies. "The people must instruct their
representatives to send a remonstrance to the king, and assure him, unless
their liberties are immediately restored whole and entire, they will form
an independent commonwealth, and offer a free trade to all nations."--"It
is more than time," Adams wrote to Warren, "to be rid of both tyrants and
tyranny." He prepared a statement of rights, among which was the right to
change allegiance in case oppression became intolerable, and to rescue and
preserve their liberties sword in hand. A detailed statement of grievances
was also drawn up, to be submitted to the king; its specifications were no
doubt familiar to Jefferson, when he wrote the "Declaration" four years
later. This document was circulated throughout the colony, and was
indorsed with unexpected enthusiasm by scores of towns; many of them, with
rustic bluntness, telling their thoughts in language even stronger than
that of their model. The fishermen of Marblehead (of whom history says not
much, but whatever is said, is memorable) affirmed that they were
"incensed at the unconstitutional, unrighteous proceedings of the
ministers, detested the name of Hillsborough, and were ready to unite for
the recovery of their violated rights." In Plymouth, "ninety to one were
for fighting Great Britain." The village of Pembroke, inhabited by
descendants of the Pilgrims, said that the oppressions which existed must
and would issue in the total dissolution of the union between the mother
country and the colonies. "Death is more eligible than slavery," said
Marlborough; and Lenox refused to "crouch, Issachar-like between the two
burdens of poverty and slavery." There was no doubt about the sentiment of
the country; and the hands of Adams and his colleagues were immensely
strengthened by the revelation.

In the spring of 1773 the next step was taken by Virginia. Young Dabney
Carr rose in the assembly and moved a system of correspondence between all
the colonies similar to that which had been established in Massachusetts.
In other words, the intercommunication of councils in all the colonies was
organized, and when these councils should meet, the Continental Congress
would exist. The response was earnest and cordial from Georgia to Maine.
Things were rapidly shaping themselves for the end. If anything more were
needed to consolidate England's offspring against her, it was not wanting.
Hutchinson, the veteran plotter and self-seeker, who never did a generous
or magnanimous act, who stabbed men in the back, and who valued money more
than country or honor, was exposed to the contempt of all men both in
America and England, and was forced to resign his governorship in disgrace
and to fly to England, where he died a few years later. Franklin was the
immediate means of his downfall. A member of Parliament had remarked to
him in conversation that the alleged grievances of which the colonists
complained had not been inflicted by any English initiative, but were the
result of solicitation from the most respectable of the colonists
themselves, who had affirmed these measures to be essential to the welfare
of the country. Franklin lifted his eyebrows; upon which his interlocutor
produced a number of Hutchinson's secret letters to Hillsborough. They
proved a conspiracy, on the part of Hutchinson, Oliver and others, to
crush American liberty and introduce military rule: they were treasonable
in the worst sense. Franklin remarked, after reading them, that his
resentment against England's arbitrary conduct was much abated; since it
was now evident that the oppression had been suggested and urged by
Americans whom England must have supposed represented the better class of
the colonists. He sent the letters to Boston; and "as to the writers," he
wrote, "when I find them bartering away the liberties of their native
country for posts, negotiating for salaries and pensions extorted from the
people, and, conscious of the odium these might be attended with, calling
for troops to protect and secure them in the enjoyment of them;--when I
see them exciting jealousies in the crown, and provoking it to wrath
against so great a part of its most faithful subjects; creating enmities
between the different countries of which the empire consists; occasioning
a great expense to the old country for suppressing or preventing imaginary
rebellions in the new, and to the new country for the payment of needless
gratifications to useless officers and enemies--I cannot but doubt their
sincerity even in the political principles they profess, and deem them
mere time-servers, seeking their own private emoluments through any
quantity of public mischief; betrayers of the interest not of their native
country only, but of the government they pretend to serve, and of the
whole English empire."

The letters were read in the assembly in secret session. But in the
meanwhile Hutchinson had been led into another mistake. He had denied, in
his speech to the legislature, that any line could be drawn between the
supreme authority of Parliament and the total independence of the
colonies. Either yield, then (he said), or convince me of error. The
terrible Adams asked nothing better. Accepting Hutchinson's alternative,
he answered, "If there be no such line between Parliament's supreme
authority and our total independence, then are we either vassals of
Parliament or independent. But since the parties to the compact cannot
have intended that one of them should be vassals, it follows that our
independence was intended. If, as you contend, two independent
legislatures cannot coexist in one and the same state, then have our
charters made us distinct states from England."--Thus had the governor
unwittingly pointed his opponent's spear, and, instead of driving him to
attack Parliament, been placed in the position of implicitly questioning
its authority himself.

But this was nothing compared with the revelation of his treacherous
letters. His first instinct, of course, was falsehood. "I never wrote any
letter tending to subvert the constitution," he asseverated. Being
confronted with his own sign-manual, "Their design," he cried, "is not to
subvert but to protect." But he knew he was ruined, and sent word to his
correspondents in England to burn the letters they held. The letters were
published, and distributed all over the colonies. Not a man or woman in
the country but knew Hutchinson for the dastardly traitor he was. A
petition to remove him and Oliver was sent to the king, but he hastened to
submit his resignation, with a whining entreaty that he be not "left
destitute, to be insulted and triumphed over." And bringing false charges
against Franklin, he begged to receive the latter's office of deputy
postmaster-general.

Before this matter could be settled, affairs in Boston had come to a
crisis. The East India Company had large consignments of tea ready for
shipment to the principal towns along the American coast. The latter
warned them of loss, but Lord North said "The king means to try this
question with America." It was seen that the connection between England
and her colonies could be continued only on a basis of equal liberties,
and "Resist all shipments of tea!" was the word. New York and Philadelphia
settled the matter by commanding all consignees to resign, which they did;
but this was not to be the solution in Boston. When, on November 28th, the
"Dartmouth," Captain Rotch, arrived with one hundred and fourteen cases of
tea, the representatives of the people ordered him not to enter till
Tuesday, the 30th. Four weeks before a meeting at Liberty Tree had been
summoned, and the consignees directed to attend and resign. The meeting
was held, but Clarke and the other consignees had refused to recognize its
authority. They now temporized, and were granted a day to consider;
meanwhile a guard was kept on the ship. The next day the consignees
proposed to suspend action until they could write to the exporters for
advice; but this was seen to be a subterfuge and was indignantly refused.
Rotch agreed to take the tea back; but the custom house refused him a
clearance. For if the ship remained in port, with her cargo undischarged,
twenty days, the authorities could seize and land it by law. If then the
people were to prevail, they must do so within that time. It seemed as if
they must be defeated; for if the consignees would not resign, and the
ship could not get a clearance, nothing but a direct violation of the law
could prevent the tea from being landed. To make assurance surer, two
frigates kept guard at the mouth of the harbor, and the guns of the Castle
were loaded. The governor and the officers were already chuckling over
their anticipated victory.

Adams and the committee of correspondence met, in secret session, and
what they determined never has transpired and can be surmised by inference
only. On Thursday, December 16th, a great meeting was called in the Old
South Church. Thousands of people from surrounding towns were in
attendance; the willingness and eagerness of them all to resist at the
cost of their lives and fortunes had been abundantly expressed. Had there
been an armed force with which they could have fought, the way would have
been easy; but there was nothing palpable here: only that intangible Law,
which they had never yet broken, and their uniform loyalty to which, in
their disputes with England, had given them strength and advantage. Must
they defy it now, in the cause of liberty, and engage in a scuffle with
the king's officers, in which the latter would be technically at least in
the right? No doubt they might prevail: but would not the moral defeat
counterbalance the gain?

"Throw it overboard!" Young had exclaimed, at a meeting two weeks before.
The suggestion had seemed to pass unheeded; but this was a crisis when
every proposition must be considered. Josiah Quincy and other speakers set
clearly before the multitude the dilemma in which they stood. Rotch had
been dispatched to Milton, where the governor had taken refuge, to ask for
a pass out of the harbor, this being the last resort after the refusal of
clearance papers. The short winter day drew to a close; darkness fell, and
the church, filled with that great throng of resolute New Englanders, was
lighted only by a few wax candles, whose dim flare flickered on the stern
and anxious countenances that packed the pews and crowded the aisles, and
upon Adams, Young, Quincy, Hancock, and the other leaders, grouped round
the pulpit. They were in the house of God: would He provide help for His
people? A few hours more, and the cargo in yonder ship would lapse into
the hands of the British admiral. The meeting had given its final,
unanimous vote that the cargo never should be landed; but what measures
were to be taken to prevent it, was known to but few.

It was near six when a commotion at the door resolved itself into the
ushering-in of Rotch, panting from his ten-mile ride in the frosty air; he
made his way up the aisle, and delivered his report: the governor had
refused the pass. No other reply had been looked for; but at the news a
silence fell upon the grim assembly, which felt that it was now face to
face with the sinister power of the king. Then of a sudden, loud shouts
came from the lower part of the church, near the open door; and even as
Adams rose to his feet and throwing up his arm, called out, "This meeting
can do nothing more to save the country"--there was heard from without the
shrill, reduplicating yell of the Indian war whoop; and dusky figures were
seen to pass, their faces grisly with streaks of black and red, feathers
tossing in their hair, and blankets gathered round their shoulders; each,
as he passed through the dim light-ray, swung his hatchet, uttered his
war-cry, and was swallowed up in darkness again. Out poured the multitude
from the church, startled, excited, mystified, obscurely feeling that some
decisive act was about to be done: and here are Adams and Hancock among
them, cheering on that strange procession which passed down toward the
wharfs swiftly, two by two, and seeming to increase in numbers as they
passed. After them streamed the people, murmuring and questioning, through
the winter gloom of the narrow street, until the high-shouldered houses
fell away, and there were the wide reaches of the harbor, with the ships
lying at Griffin's Wharf amid the cakes of ice that swung up and down with
the movement of the tide. As they came there, a strange silence fell upon
all, amid which the Indians--were they Indians?--swung themselves lightly
aboard the vessels, and went swiftly and silently to work. Up from the
hold came case after case of tea, which were seized and broken open by the
hatchets, the sound of their breaking being clearly audible in the tense
stillness; and the black contents were showered into the waters. Minute
after minute, hour after hour went by, and still the wild figures worked,
and still the multitude looked on, forgetful of the cold, their hearts
beating higher and fuller with exultation as they saw the hated cargo
disappear. It was all but ten of the clock before the last hatchet-stroke
that smote the king's fetters from Massachusetts had been delivered; and
then the feathered and painted figures leaped ashore, drawing their
blankets round their faces, and melted silently into the crowd, and were
lost, never again to reappear. Who were they?--Never was secret better
kept; after six score years we know as little as did King George's
officers on that night. They seemed to have sprung into existence solely
to do that one bold deed, and then to vanish like a dream. But the deed
was no dream; nor its sequel. No blood was shed on the night of the 16th
of December, 1773: but Massachusetts, and through her the other colonies,
then and there gave notice to King George that he had passed the limits
which they had appointed for his tyranny; and the next argument must be
held at the musket's mouth.



CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

THE SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD


Franklin was sixty-seven years of age at this time; no man was then alive
more worthy than he of honor and veneration. For twenty years he had
guarded the interests of America in England; and while he had been
unswerving in his wise solicitude for the colonies, he had ever been
heedful to avoid all needless offense to England. The best men there were
the men who held Franklin in highest esteem as a politician, a
philosopher, and a man; and in France he was regarded as a superior being.
No other man could have filled his place as agent of the colonies: no
other had his sagacity, his experience, his wisdom, his address. He was
not of that class of diplomatists who surround every subject they handle
with a tissue of illusion or falsehood; Franklin was always honest and
undisguised in his transactions; so that what was long afterward said of a
lesser man was true of him: "Whatever record spring to light, he never
will be shamed." No service rendered by him to his country was more useful
than the exposure of Hutchinson; none was more incumbent on him, as
protector of colonial affairs. But in the rage which possessed the English
ministry upon learning how Massachusetts had parried the attack made upon
her liberties, some immediate victim was indispensable; and as Franklin
was there present, they fell upon him. A fluent and foul-mouthed young
barrister, Alexander Wedderburn by name, had by corrupt influence secured
the post of solicitor-general; and he made use of the occasion of
Franklin's submitting the petition for the removal of Hutchinson and
Oliver, to make a personal attack upon him, which was half falsehood and
half ribaldry. He pretended that the Hutchinson letters had been
dishonorably acquired, and that their publication was an outrage on
private ownership. Incidentally, he painted Hutchinson as a true patriot
and savior of his country; and called Franklin an incendiary, a traitor, a
hypocrite, who should find a fitting termination of his career on the
gallows. This billingsgate was heaped upon him before an unusually full
meeting of the lords of the privy council, the highest court of appeal;
and they laughed and cheered, while the venerable envoy of the colonies
stood "conspicuously erect," facing them with a steady countenance. Such,
and of such temper, were the aristocratic rulers of England and of America
(if she would be ruled) at this epoch.

America's friends in England were still stanch; but the ministry found no
difficulty in giving events a color which irritated the English people at
large against the colonies, and against Boston in particular; and they had
little trouble in securing the passage of the Boston Port Bill, the effect
of which was to close the largest and busiest port in the colonies against
all commerce whatsoever. Fuller said that it could not be put in execution
but by a military force; to which Lord North answered, "I shall not
hesitate to enforce a due obedience to the laws of this country." Another
added, "You will never meet with proper obedience until you have destroyed
that nest of locusts." Lord George Germain, speaking of revoking the
Massachusetts charter, said, "Whoever wishes to preserve such charters, I
wish him no worse than to govern such subjects." The act passed both
houses without a division, and Gage was appointed military governor, in
place of Hutchinson, who was recalled; and four regiments were quartered
in Boston. The wharfs were empty and deserted; the streets were dull, the
shops were closed; but the British Coffee House in King Street was gay
once more; and King George in London, felt that he was having his revenge,
though he was paying a round price for it. But Boston, having shown that
she could do without tea, and without commerce, was now about to show that
she could also do without George.

Nobody but Americans could govern America. The people were too
intelligent, too active, too various-minded, too full of native quality
and genius to be ruled from abroad. If they were to fall under foreign
subjection, they would become a dead weight in the world, instead of a
source of life; as Adams said, every increase in population would be but
an increase of slaves. And that they preferred death to slavery was every
day becoming increasingly manifest. They felt that the future was in them,
and that they must have space and freedom to bring it forth; and it is one
of the paradoxes of history that England, to whom they stood in
blood-relationship, from whom they derived the instinct for liberty,
should have attempted to reduce them to the most absolute bondage anywhere
known, except in the colonies of Spain. She was actuated partly by the
pride of authority, centered in George III., and from him percolating into
his creatures in the ministry and Parliament; and partly by the horde of
office-seekers and holders whose aim was sheer pecuniary gain at any cost
of honor and principle. The mercantile class had borne their share in
oppression at first; but when it became evident that tyranny applied to
America would kill her productiveness, the merchants were no longer on the
side of the tyrants. It was then too late to change the policy of the
country, however; George would have his way to the bitter end; the blind
lust to thrash the colonies into abject submission had the upper hand in
England; reason could not get a hearing; and such criticisms as the
opposition could offer served only to make still more rigid and medieval
the determination of the king.

It was the policy of the English government to regard Boston as the
head-center of revolt, and to concentrate all severities against her. It
was thought that in this way she could be isolated from the other
colonies, who would say to themselves that her troubles were none of
their affair, and that so long as they were treated with decency they
would not antagonize all-powerful England. Arguing from the average
selfishness of human nature, this policy did not seem unwise; but the fact
was that in this case human nature manifested an exceptional generosity
and enlightenment. Although the colonies, being on the coast, must depend
largely for their prosperity on commerce, and commerce is notoriously
self-seeking, nevertheless all the American settlements without exception
made the cause of Boston their own, sent her supplies to tide over her
evil days, and passed resolutions looking to union and common action
against oppression. South Carolina had every selfish ground for siding
with England; her internal affairs were in a prosperous condition, and her
traffic with England was profitable, and not likely to be interfered with;
yet none of the colonies was more outspoken and thoroughgoing than she in
denouncing England's action and befriending Boston. The great commonwealth
of Virginia was not less altruistic in her conduct, and did more than any
of her sister provinces to enforce the doctrine of union and independence.
New York, a colony in which aristocracy held a dominant place, owing to
the tenure of large estates by the patroons, and which necessarily was a
commercial center, yet spoke with no uncertain voice, in spite of the fact
that there were there two parties, representing the lower and the upper
social class, whose differences were marked, and later led to the
formation of two political parties throughout the colonies. In
Pennsylvania, the combination of non-fighting Quakers and careful traders
deadened energy in the cause, and the preachings of Dickinson, the
venerable "Farmer," were interpreted as favoring a policy of conciliation;
but this hesitation was only temporary. The new-made city of Baltimore was
conspicuous in patriotism; and the lesser colonies, and many
out-of-the-way hamlets and villages, were magnificent in their devotion
and liberality. The demand for a congress was general, and Boston was made
to feel that her sacrifices were understood and appreciated. She had but
to pay for the tea which had been thrown overboard, and her port would
have been reopened and her business restored; but she staked her existence
upon a principle and did not weaken. There were, in all parts of the
colonies, a strong minority of loyalists, as they called themselves,
traitors, as they were termed by extremists on the other side, or tories,
as they came to be known later on, who did and said what they could to
induce submission to England, with all which that implied. But the
practical assistance they were able to give to England was never
considerable, and, on the other hand, they sharpened the senses of the
patriots and kept them from slackening their efforts or modifying their
views.

Gage, a weak and irresolute man, as well as a stupid one, was making a
great bluster in Boston. His powers were despotic. Soldiers and frigates
were his in abundance; he talked about arresting the patriots for treason,
to be tried in England; and Parliament had passed an act relieving him and
his men from all responsibility for killings or other outrages done upon
the colonists. He transferred the legislature from Boston to Salem; and
urged in season and out of season the doctrine that resistance to England
was hopeless. Upon the whole, his threats were more terrible than his
deeds, though these were bad enough. Meanwhile Hutchinson in England had
been encouraging and at the same time misleading the king, by assurances
that the colonies would not unite, and that Boston must succumb. At the
same time, Washington was declaring that nothing was to be expected from
petitioning, and that he was ready to raise a thousand men and subsist
them at his own expense, and march at their head for the relief of Boston;
Thomson Mason was saying that he did not wish to survive the liberties of
his country a single moment; Prescott of New Hampshire was affirming that
"a glorious death in defense of our liberties is better than a short and
infamous life"; Israel Putnam of Connecticut announced himself ready to
treat the army and navy of England as enemies; and thousands of citizens
in Massachusetts were compelling royal councilors to resign their places,
and answering those who threatened them with the charge of treason and
death with--"No consequences are so dreadful to a free people as that of
being made slaves." Jay's suggestion to form a union under the auspices of
the king was disapproved: "We must stand undisguised on one side or the
other." Gage's orders were ignored; judges appointed by royal decree were
forced to retire; and "if British troops should march to Worcester, they
would be opposed by at least twenty thousand men from Hampshire County and
Connecticut." Gage, finding himself confronted by a population, could
think of no remedy but more troops. He wrote to England that "the people
are numerous, waked up to a fury, and not a Boston rabble, but the
freeholders of the county. A check would be fatal, and the first stroke
will decide a great deal. We should therefore be strong before anything
decisive is urged." He had, on the 1st of September, 1774, captured two
hundred and fifty half-barrels of provincial powder, stored at Quarry
Hill, near Medford. Forty thousand militia, from various parts of the
country, took up arms and prepared to march on Boston; and though word was
sent to them that the time had not yet come, their rising was an object
lesson to those who had been asserting that the colonies would submit.
Gage had ten regiments at his disposal, but was trying to raise a force of
Canadians and Indians in addition, and was asking for still more
re-enforcements from England. The employment of Indians was a new thing in
English policy, and was a needless barbarism which can never be excused or
palliated. Gage fortified Boston Neck, thus putting all within the lines
at the mercy of his army; yet the starving carpenters of the town refused
to erect barracks for the British troops. Outside of Boston, the towns
threw off the English yoke. Hawley said he would resist the whole power of
England with the forces of the four New England colonies alone; and every
man between sixteen and seventy years of age was enrolled under the name
of "minute-men," ready to march and fight at a minute's warning.

On the 5th of September, the first American Congress met in Philadelphia.
Almost all the eminent men of the country were present--Gadsden of South
Carolina, Washington, Dickinson, Patrick Henry, Lee, the Adamses, and many
more. They agreed to vote by colonies. Their business was to consider a
constitution, to protest against the regulating act in force at Boston,
which left no liberty to the citizens; to frame a declaration of rights,
and to make a statement to the king of their attitude and demands. The
session was long, for the delegates had to make one another's
acquaintance, and to discover a middle course between what was desired by
separate colonies and what was agreeable to all. Great differences of
opinion and policy were developed, and there were not wanting men like
Galloway, the Speaker, who aimed at paralyzing all resistance to England.
But the longer they debated and voted, the more clearly and unanimously
did they oppose the tyrannous acts of Parliament and the extension of the
royal prerogative, and the more firmly did they demand liberty and
equality. Separation they did not demand, but a free union with the mother
country, to the mutual enrichment and advantage of both. By a concession,
they admitted the right of Parliament to lay external duties and to
regulate trade; but they strongly indorsed the resistance of
Massachusetts, and declared that if her oppression were persisted in, it
would be the duty of all America to come to her aid. With the hope of
influencing the merchants of England to reflect upon the injustice of the
present trade restrictions, they voted to cease all imports into England,
and to refuse all exports therefrom, though the loss and inconvenience to
themselves from this resolve must be immeasurably greater than to the
older country, which had other sources of supply and markets for goods. In
all that they did, they were ruled by the consideration that they
possessed no power of enforcing their decrees upon their own
fellow-countrymen, and must therefore so frame them that the natural
instinct for right and justice should induce to obedience to them. Their
moderation, their desire for conciliation, was marked throughout; and when
a message was received from Boston, reciting the iniquitous proceedings of
Gage, and proposing, if the Congress agreed, that the citizens of the
wealthiest community in the new world should abandon their homes and
possessions and retire to a life of log huts and cornfields in the
wilderness--when this heroic suggestion was made, the Congress resisted
the fiery counsel of Gadsden to march forthwith on Boston and drive Gage
and his army into the sea; and bade the people of Boston to be patient yet
a while, and await the issue of the message to England. But although they
were conscientious in adopting every measure that could honorably be
employed to induce England to reconsider her behavior, they had little
hope of a favorable issue. "After all, we must fight," said Hawley; and
Washington, when he heard it, raised his hand, and called God to witness
as he cried out, "I am of that man's mind!"

Their final utterance to England was noble and full of dignity. "To your
justice we appeal. You have been told that we are impatient of government
and desirous of independence. These are calumnies. Permit us to be as free
as yourselves, and we shall ever esteem a union with you to be our
greatest glory and our greatest happiness. But if you are determined that
your ministers shall wantonly sport with the rights of mankind: if neither
the voice of justice, the dictates of law, the principles of the
constitution, or the suggestions of humanity, can restrain your hands from
shedding human blood in such an impious cause, we must then tell you that
we will never submit to be hewers of wood and drawers of water for any
ministry or nation in the world."

In order to cripple America, the new province of Quebec was enlarged, so
as to cut off the western extension of several of the older colonies. At
the same time discrimination against the Catholics was relaxed, and the
Canadians were given to understand that they would be treated with favor.
The Americans, however, were not blind to the value of Canadian
friendship, and sent emissaries among them to secure their good will. "If
you throw in your lot with us," they were told, "you will have been
conquered into liberty." In Virginia, Lord Dunmore had been appointed
governor, and in order to gratify his passion for wealth, he broke the
injunction of the king, and allowed the extension of the province
westward; but this was the result of his personal greed, and did not
prevent his hostility to all plans for colonial liberty. Nevertheless, his
conduct gained him temporary popularity in Virginia; and still more did
his management of the war against the Shawnees, brought on by their
attacks upon the frontiersmen who had pushed their little settlements as
far as the Mississippi. These backwoodsmen were always on the borders of
peril, and aided in hastening the spread of population westward.

The proceedings of the American Congress produced a sensation in England;
they were more moderate in tone and able in quality than had been
anticipated. They could not divert the king from his purpose, but they
aroused sympathy in England among the People, and from Lord Chatham the
remark that the annals of Greece and Rome yielded nothing so lofty and
just in sentiment as their remonstrance. The non-representative character
of Parliament at this juncture is illustrated by the fact that
three-fourths of the English population were estimated to be opposed to
the war with America. It was also pointed out that it would be difficult
to find men to fill the regiments, inasmuch as all the ablebodied men in
England were needed to carry on the industries of the country; there were
no general officers of reputation, and many of those holding commissions
were mere boys, or incompetent for service. There were three million
people in America, and they would be fighting for their own homes, and
amid them, with the whole vastness of the continent to retire into. On the
other hand, it was asserted that the Americans were all cowards, and
incapable of discipline; that five thousand English soldiers were more
than a match for fifty thousand provincials. They had no navy, no army, no
forts, no organization. They would collapse at the first real threat of
force. The English ministry and their followers vied with one another in
heaping contempt and abuse upon the colonists. It was in reply to them
that Burke made one of his greatest speeches. Burke was an artist in
sentiments, and cannot be regarded as a statesman of settled and profound
convictions; his voice regarding America had not been consistent or wise;
but ever and anon he threw forth some worthy and noble thought. "I do not
know the method," he said in his speech, "of drawing up an indictment
against a whole people." Franklin, in March, after listening to one of
Lord Sandwich's shallow and frothy vilifications of America, "turned on
his heel" and left England. With him vanished the last hope of
reconciliation. "Had I been in power," exclaimed Hutchinson, "I would not
have suffered him to embark."

The colonists everywhere were collecting arms and ammunition, storing
powder, and diligently drilling. Whatever the leaders might say, or
refrain from saying, the mass of the people believed in the immediate
probability of war with England. In every village you could see the
farmers shouldering arms and marching to and fro on the green, while an
old man played the fife and a boy beat the drum. They did not concern
themselves about "regimentals" or any of the pomp and glory of battle; but
they knew how to cast bullets, and how to shoot them into the bull's-eye.
In their homespun small-clothes, home-knit stockings, home-made shirts and
cowhide shoes, they could march to the cannon's mouth as well as in the
finest scarlet broadcloth and gold epaulets. Their intelligence, their
good cause, their sore extremity, made them learn to be soldiers more
quickly than seemed possible to English officers who knew the sturdy
stupidity of the English peasant of whom the British regiments were
composed. And while the Yankees (as they began to be called) were learning
how to march and countermarch, and do whatever else the system of the
British regulars called for, they also knew, by inheritance, if not by
actual experience, the tactics of the Indians; they could make a fortress
of a rock or a tree or a rail fence, and could shoot and vanish, or fall,
as it seemed, from the empty air into the midst of the unsuspecting foe.
They were effective not only in bodies, but individually; and in the heart
of each, as he faced the foe, would be not only the resolve to conquer,
but the holy thought of wife and children, and of liberty. They were as
fit to be led by Washington as was he to lead them. Professing to despise
them, Gage nevertheless protested against taking the field with less than
twenty thousand men; upon which David Hume scornfully observed, "If fifty
thousand men and twenty millions of money were intrusted to such a
lukewarm coward, they never could produce any effect." It was resolved to
supersede him.

The men of Portsmouth had seized a quantity of powder and arms, which
belonged to them, but had been sequestered in the fort. The British, as a
set-off, marched to Salem to capture some stores there; they did not find
them, and proceeded toward Danvers. A river, spanned by a drawbridge,
intervened, and when they arrived, the draw was up. There stood Colonel
Timothy Pickering, with forty provincials, asking what Captain Leslie with
his two hundred red-coated regulars wanted. The captain blustered and
threatened; but the draw remained up, and the provincials all had guns in
their hands, and looked able and willing to use them, if occasion
demanded. But the captain did not think it best to give the signal for
combat, and meanwhile time was passing, and no soothsayer was needed to
reveal that the stores were being removed to a place of safety. After an
hour or so, Colonel Pickering relented so far as to permit the captain and
his regulars to cross the bridge and advance thirty yards beyond it; after
which he must face about and return to Boston. This he did; and thus ended
the first collision between the colonies and England. Nobody was hurt; but
in less than two months blood was to be shed on both sides. "The two
characteristics of this people, religion and humanity, are strongly marked
in all their proceedings," John Adams had said. "Resistance by arms
against usurpation and lawless violence is not rebellion by the law of God
or the land. If there is no possible medium between absolute independence
and subjection to the authority of Parliament, all North America are
convinced of their independence, and determined to defend it at all
hazards." The British answer to utterances like these was to seize a
farmer from the country, who had come to town to buy a firelock, tar and
feather him, stick a placard on his back, "American liberty, or a specimen
of democracy," and conduct him through the streets amid a mob of soldiers
and officers, to the strains of "Yankee Doodle."

As the last moments before the irrevocable outbreak passed away, there
was both a strong yearning for peace, and a stern perception that peace
must be impossible. "If Americans would be free, they must fight," said
Patrick Henry in Virginia. One after another, with singular unanimity, the
colonies fell in with this view. New York was regarded by the British as
most likely to be loyal; New England, and especially Massachusetts, were
expected to be the scene of the first hostilities. Sir William Howe,
brother of the Howe who died bravely in the Old French War, was appointed
commander-in-chief in place of Gage. The latter was directed to adopt the
most rigorous and summary measures toward the Boston people, whose
congress was pronounced by Thurlow and Wedderburn to be a treasonable
body, deserving of condign punishment. Orders were given to raise
regiments of French Papists in Canada; and the signal that should let
loose the red men for their work of tomahawking women and children was in
suspense. It was now the middle of April.

The winter season had been exceptionally mild. In the country neighboring
Boston the leaves were budding a month earlier than usual, and the grass
was deep and green as in English meadows. The delicate and fragrant
blossoms of the mayflower made the wooded hillsides sweet, and birds were
singing and building their nests in the mild breezes, under the
cloud-flecked sky. The farmers were sowing their fields and caring for
their cattle; their wives were feeding their poultry and milking their
cows; New England seemed to have put off her sternness, and to be wearing
her most inviting and peaceful aspect. Innocence and love breathed in the
air and murmured in the woods, and warbled in the liquid flowing of the
brooks. In such a time and place, Adam and Eve might have begun the life
of humanity on earth, and found in the loveliness and beauty of the world
a fitting image of the tranquillity and tenderness that overflowed their
guileless hearts.

But Eden was far away from New England in the spring of 1775. Committees
of Safety had been formed in all the towns, whose duty it was to provide
for defense against what might happen; and two eminent leaders, Samuel
Adams and John Hancock, had been to Lexington and Concord to oversee the
dispositions, and to consult with the fathers of the colony who had met in
the latter town. A small quantity of powder and some guns and muskets had
been stored in both these places; for if trouble should occur with the
British, it was most likely to begin in Boston, and the minute-men of the
province would rendezvous most conveniently at these outlying settlements,
which lay along the high road at distances of fourteen and twenty miles
from the city. No offensive operations, of course, were contemplated, nor
was it known what form British aggression would assume. Defense of their
homes and liberties was all that the New England farmers and mechanics
intended. They had no plan of campaign, and no military leaders who knew
anything of the art of war. They could be killed by invaders, and perhaps
kill some of them; they were sure of the holiness of their cause; but they
were too simple and homely-minded to realize that God had intrusted to
them the first irrevocable step in a movement which should change the
destinies of the world.

In Boston, during the 18th of April, there had been bustle and mysterious
conferences among the British officers, and movements among the troops;
which might mean anything or nothing. But there were patriots on the
watch, and it was surmised that some hostile act might be meditated; and
plans were made to give warning inland, should this prove to be the case.
At the British Coffee House, that afternoon, the group of officers was
gayer than usual, and there was much laughter and many toasts. "Here's to
the Yankee minute-men!" said one: "the men who'll run the minute they see
the enemy!" General Gage stalked about, solemn, important and
monosyllabic. Lieutenant-colonel Smith was very busy, and held himself
unusually erect; and Major Pitcairn, of the marines, was often seen in his
company, as if the two had some secret in common. The plain citizens who
walked the streets fancied that they were shouldered aside even more
arrogantly than usual by the haughty redcoats; and that the insolent stare
with which they afflicted the handsome wives and pretty maidens of Boston
was grosser and more significant than common. But the evening fell with
matters much as ordinary, to all appearance; and as the town was under
martial law, most of the population was off the streets by nine o'clock.

But soon after ten that night, a man was riding at a hand-gallop past
Medford, heading west. He had been rowed across Charles River just at the
beginning of flood tide, and had landed on the Charlestown shore a few
minutes before the order to let none pass had reached the sentry. Turning,
with one foot in the stirrup, he had seen two lights from the North Church
tower, and a moment afterward had been on his way. Half a mile beyond
Charlestown Neck he had almost galloped into the arms of two British
officers, but had avoided them by turning suddenly to the right. Now the
old Boston road was smooth before him, and he threw off his three-cornered
hat, bent forward in his saddle and spoke in his horse's ear. His was a
good horse, and carried an important message. A house near the roadside
showed up dark and silent against the starlit sky; the horseman rode to
the door and struck the panels with his whip. A window was thrown open
above: "Who's there?"--"Paul Revere: the British march to-night to
Lexington and Concord: Warren, of the Committee of Safety, bids you hold
your men in readiness."--"Right!"--The horseman turns, and is off along
the road again before the captain of the Medford minute-men has shut the
window.

It is but a short fourteen miles to Lexington; but there are a dozen or
twenty farmhouses along the way, and at each of them the horseman must
pause and deliver his message; so that it is just midnight as he comes in
sight of the outskirts of the humble village. There is a dim light burning
in the window of yonder hip-roofed cottage beside the green; Adams and
Hancock must be anticipating news; Adams, indeed, has the name of being a
man who sleeps little and thinks much. The night-rider's summons is
responded to at once; and then, at the open door, there is a brief
conference, terse and to the point; the pale face of a woman looks from
the window; a message has brought Dawes and Sam Prescott, ready mounted,
to accompany Revere on his further journey. Young Jonas Parker, the best
wrestler in Lexington, has drawn a bucket of water at the well-sweep and
is holding it under the nose of Revere's horse. "Well, my lad," says Paul,
"are you ready to fight to-morrow?"--"I won't run--I promise you that,"
replies the youth, with a smile. He was dead five hours later, with a
bullet through his vigorous young body, and a British bayonet wound in his
breast, having kept his word.

Meanwhile the three horsemen are off, bearing now toward the left, for
Lincoln; but there, as luck would have it, they encountered half a dozen
English officers, who arrested Dawes and Revere and took them back to
Lexington. Prescott, however, was too quick for them; in the flurry and
darkness he had leaped his horse over the low stone wall, and was off
across the meadows which he had known from a boy, to Concord. It was then
between one and two o'clock; and the latter hour had hardly struck when
the ride was over, and the bells of the meeting-house were pealing from
the steeple. Two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage is the test of a man, as
Napoleon said some years later; be that as it may, here are the Concord
minute-men, Hosmer, Buttrick, Parson Emerson, Brown, Blanchard, and the
rest; they are running toward the green, musket in hand, bullet-pouch on
thigh, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred and more; and there comes Barrett,
their captain, with his sword; the men range out in a double rank, in the
cool night air, and answer to their names; if the time has indeed come for
action, they are ready to make good the bold words spoken at many a town
meeting and private chat for weeks past. They have been comrades all their
lives, and know each other; and yet now, perhaps, they gaze at one another
curiously, conscious of an indefinable change that has come over them, now
that death may be marching a few miles to the eastward.

And in truth, while they were discussing what might happen, death was
already at work at Lexington. Eight hundred grenadiers and light infantry,
the best soldiers in America, had marched into the village shortly before
dawn. For an hour or more, as they marched, they had heard the sound of
bells and of muskets, now near, now far, telling that their movement had
been discovered; and they hastened their steps; not as apprehending
resistance from the Yankee cowards, but lest the stores they were after
should be hidden before they could get at them. And now, here they were,
advancing with the regular tramp of disciplined troops, muskets on their
shoulders, bayonets fixed, and a slight dust rising from their serried
footsteps. They looked as if they might march through a stone wall. But
could it really be true that these men meant to kill American farmers in
sight of their own homes? Were English soldiers really enemies of their
own flesh and blood? As they approached the common--an irregular triangle
of ground, with a meeting-house at the further end--the alarm-drum was
beating, and muskets firing; and yonder are the minute-men sure enough,
running together in the morning dusk, and marshaling themselves in scanty
ranks under the orders of Captain Parker. Young men and old are there, in
their well-worn shirts and breeches, cut and stitched by the faithful
hands of their wives and daughters, and each with his loaded flint-lock in
his hands. There are but fifty or sixty in all, against sixteen times as
many of the flower of the British army. The vanguard of the latter has
halted, and has received the order from Pitcairn to load; and you may hear
the ring of the ramrods in unison, and then the click of the locks. And
yonder comes the rest of the host, at double-quick, the hoarse commands of
their officers sounding out of the gloom. What can less than threescore
minute-men do against them? At all events, they can die; and history will
never forget them, standing there in front of the little church where they
had so often prayed; and their country will always honor their names and
love them. They stood there, silent and motionless, protesting with their
lives against the march of tyranny. How few they were--and what countless
millions they represented!

Out rides Pitcairn in front of the grenadiers. You can see the red of his
tunic now in the gathering light, the sparkle of his accouterments, and
the gleam of his sword as he swings it with a commanding gesture.
"Disperse, ye villains!" he calls out in a harsh, peremptory voice: "Ye
rebels--why don't you lay down your arms and disperse?"

Would they obey?--No: for they were neither villains nor rebels; they had
come there as a sacrifice, and they would not go thence until the crime
had been committed, and their country had definitely learned, from them,
whether oppression would proceed to the last extremity, or not. It was
only a few harmless, heroic lives to lose; but so much must needs be done.
It was not an easy thing to do; there was no one to teach them how to do
it scenically and splendidly. They must simply stand there, in their own
awkward way, shoulder to shoulder, motionless, gazing at the gallant major
and the heavy masses of uniformed men beyond, waiting for what might come.
The Lord of Hosts was on their side; but, as with our Saviour in the
Garden of Gethsemane, He seemed remotest when most near. Their wives and
children are there, looking on, straining their eyes through the
obscurity, with what throbbings of agony in their hearts, with what
prayers choking in their throats!

The major snatches a pistol from his holster, levels and discharges it;
and "Fire!" he shouts at the same moment, at the top of his lungs. He had
omitted the "Ready--present!" and the soldiers did not all fire at once;
first there were a few dropping shots; but then came the volley. The
regulars shot to kill. Down came Jonas Parker to his knee, to be stabbed
to death before he could reload; there fell old Munroe, the veteran of
Louisburg; and Harrington, killed at his doorstep, and Muzzey, Hadley, and
Brown. In all, before the stars had faded in the light of dawn, sixteen
New Englanders lay dead or wounded on the village green. And the British
troops had reformed, and huzzaed thrice, and marched on with drum and
fife, before the sun of the 19th of April had looked upon their work. The
Revolution had begun.

It was seven o'clock when, with the sun on their backs, the British
invaders came along the base of the low hill, crowned with pine and birch,
that lies like a sleeping serpent to the east on the way to Concord. They
were a trifle jaded now from their all-night march, and their gaiters and
uniforms were a little dusty; but the barrels of their guns shone as
bright as ever, and their spirits were good, after their glorious exploit
six miles back. Glorious, of course: yet a trifle dull, all the same;
there would be more fun shooting these bumpkins, if only they could summon
heart to put up a bit of a fight in return. "Maybe we'll get a better
chance at 'em out here, colonel--eh?" the major of marines might have
said, with his Scotch brogue, turning his horse to ride beside his
superior officer for a mile or so. "I don't think it, sir," that great
soldier would reply, puffing out his cheeks, and wiping his brow with his
embroidered handkerchief. "The sight of his majesty's uniform, Major
Pitcairn, is alone enough to put to flight every scurvy rebel in
Massachusetts. If you want to get within range of 'em, sir, you must wear
mufti."

During the early morning hours, the minute-men standing under the liberty
pole in front of Concord meeting-house had been gradually re-enforced by
parties hastening in from Lincoln, Acton, and other outlying hamlets,
until they numbered about two hundred men. But as the British drew near,
eight hundred strong, the Americans withdrew down a meadow road northward,
until they reached a hospitable edifice with a broad roof, pierced by
gables, standing at the upper end of an avenue, and with its back toward
the sluggish Muskataquid, or Concord River. A few rods to the left of the
site of this manse was a wooden bridge, spanning the stream, known as the
North Bridge. The manse was occupied by the Reverend William Emerson, the
minister of the town, and from its western windows was an excellent view
of the bridge. One of these windows was open, and the pastor himself, with
his arms resting on the sill, was looking from this coign of vantage when
the minute-men came up, crossed the bridge, and stationed themselves on
the rising ground just beyond. He remained there, a deeply interested
spectator, during the events which followed.

The British, finding Concord deserted, divided into three parts, one
going to a bridge to the south of the town, one remaining in the town
itself, and the third marching north, where it again divided, one party of
a hundred guarding the approach to the north bridge, on the further side
of which the Americans were embattled, the other proceeding along the road
to the house of Captain Barrett in search of arms. A couple of hours
passed by, and nothing seemed likely to happen; but it was noticed that
there was the smoke of a fire in Concord, a mile to the south and east.
Smith and Pitcairn were there, with the main body of the troops, and they
had been making bonfires of the liberty pole and some gun carriages: the
court house was also in a blaze. But to the Concord men, waiting at the
bridge, it looked as if the British were setting their homes afire. The
women and children had been sent into the woods out of harm's way, before
the regiments arrived; but some of them might have ventured back again.
Vague rumors of the bloodshed at Lexington had been passed from mouth to
mouth, losing nothing, probably, on the way. The men began to ask one
another whether it was not incumbent on them to march to the rescue of
their town?

By accessions from Carlisle, Bedford, Woburn, Westford, Littleton and
Chelmsford they had now grown to a strength of four hundred; the force
immediately opposing them was less than half as numerous. They evidently
did not expect an attack; they had not even removed the planks from the
bridge. They despised the Yankees too much to take that easy precaution.

But though the British at this point were few, they were regulars; they
stood for the English army in America: and for more than that--they stood
for all England, for Parliament, for the king, for loyalty; for that
enormous moral force, so much more potent even than the physical, which
tends to prevail because it always has prevailed. These farmers did not
fear to risk their lives; their fathers, and some of themselves, had
fought Indians and Frenchmen, and thought little of it. But to fight men
whose limbs were made in England--in the old home which the colonists
still regarded as theirs, and had not ceased to love and honor, for all
this quarrel about duties and laws of trade--that was another matter: it
was almost like turning their weapons against themselves. And yet, if
there were any value in human liberty, if the words which they had
listened to from the lips of Adams and Warren and Hancock meant anything
--now was the time to testify to their belief in them. They were men: this
was their land: yonder were burning their dwellings: they had a right to
defend them, and their families. What said Captain Barrett--and Isaac
Davis of Acton, and Buttrick? And here was Colonel Robinson of Westford
too, a volunteer to-day: but what was his opinion?

The officers drew together, conferred a moment, and then Barrett, who was
in command, and the only man on horseback, gave the word: "Advance across
the bridge: don't fire unless they fire at you." The companies marched
past him, led by Buttrick, Davis and Robinson, with their swords drawn.
The men were in double file.

Seeing them actually advancing on the bridge, the British condescended to
bestir themselves, and some of them began to raise the planks. Upon this,
the Americans, who meant to cross, broke into a trot. Mr. Emerson, leaning
out of his window, with the light of battle in his eyes, saw three or four
puffs of smoke come from the British, and two Americans fell. Immediately
after there was a volley from the regulars, and now Isaac Davis was down,
and moved no more; and Abner Hosmer fell dead near him. The Americans were
advancing, but they had not fired. "Father in Heaven!" ejaculated the good
parson, between his set teeth, "aren't they going to shoot?"

Even as he spoke, he saw Buttrick leap upward, and heard his shout:
"Fire, fellow soldiers!--for God's sake, fire!"

The men repeated the word to one another; up came their guns to their
shoulders, and the sharp detonations followed.

They reached the ears of the minister, and he gave a sigh of relief. They
echoed across the river, and rolled away toward the village, and into the
distance. Nor did they stop there--those echoes: the Atlantic is wide, but
they crossed it; they made Lord North, Thurlow, and Wedderburn start in
their chairs, and mutter a curse: they penetrated to the king in his
cabinet, and he flushed and bit his lip. More than a hundred years have
passed; and yet the vibrations of that shot across Concord Bridge have not
died away. Whenever tyranny and oppression raise their evil hands, that
sound comes reverberating out of the past, and they hesitate and turn
pale. Whenever a monarch meditates injustice against his subjects, the
noise of the muskets of the Concord yeomen, fired that men might be free,
falls upon his ear, and he pauses and counts the cost. Yes, and there have
been those among ourselves, citizens of the land for which those yeomen
fought and died, who also might take warning from those ominous echoes:
for the battle waged by selfishness and corruption against human rights
has not ceased to be waged on these shores, though the British left them a
century ago. It seems, at times, as if victory inclined toward the evil
rather than the good. But let us not be misled. The blood of the farmers
who drove England out of America flows in our veins still; we are patient
and tolerant to a fault, but not forever. The onlooker, gazing from afar,
fears that we will never shoot; but presently he shall be reassured; and
once our advance is begun, there will be no relenting till the last
invader be driven into the sea.

There is a deeper lesson yet to be learned from Concord fight. It is that
the noblest deeds may be done by the humblest instruments; and that as
Christ chose His apostles from among the fishermen of Galilee, so was the
immortal honor of beginning the battle for the liberation of mankind
intrusted to a handful of lowly husbandmen and artisans, who knew little
more than that right was right, and wrong, wrong. There were no
philosophers or statesmen among them; they comprehended nothing of
diplomacy; they only felt that a duty had been laid upon them, and
inspired by that conviction, they went forward and did it. The judgment of
the world has ratified their act, and has admitted that perhaps more
subtle reasoners than they, balancing one consideration against another,
taking counsel of far-reaching prudence, flinching from responsibility,
might have put off action until the golden moment had forever passed. But
what the hands of these men found to do, they did with their might; and
therefore established the truth that the spirit of God finds its fitting
home in the bosoms of the poor and simple; and that the destinies of
mankind are safe in their protection.

Two English soldiers were killed or mortally wounded by the fire of the
Americans and several others were hit. A panic seized upon the rest, and
before the farmers had crossed the bridge, they were retreating in
disorder upon the main body in Concord. Barrett's men were surprised by
this sudden collapse of the enemy, and did not pursue them at that time,
nor intercept the small force further up the road, all of whom might
easily have been killed or captured. Perhaps they even felt sorry for what
they had done; at all events, they betrayed no bloodthirstiness as yet.
But when Smith and Pitcairn, after much agitation and irresolution,
ordered a retreat of the whole force down the Boston road, firing as they
went upon all who showed themselves, and robbing and destroying dwellings
along the route: when the winners of Concord bridge, and their fellow
minute-men, who now began to be numbered by thousands rather than by
hundreds, saw and comprehended this, the true spirit of war was kindled
within them, and they began that running fight of twenty miles which ended
in the hurling of the British into the defenses of Boston, broken,
exhausted, utterly demoralized and beaten, with a loss of two hundred and
seventy-three men and officers, Smith himself receiving a severe wound.
Ten miles more would have witnessed their complete annihilation. No troops
ever ran with better diligence than did these English regulars before the
despised Yankee minute-men; they lost the day, and honor likewise. It was
in vain that they threw out flanking parties, in an effort to clear the
woods of the American sharpshooters; the latter knew the war of the forest
better than they, and the flanking parties withered away, and staggered
helpless from exhaustion. It was in vain that Lord Percy, with twelve
hundred men, met the flying horde at Lexington, where their officers were
trying to reform them under threats of death; his cannon could delay, but
not reverse the fortunes of the day. Lord Percy soon became as frightened
as the rest, and realized that speed of foot was his sole hope of safety.
Gasping for breath, reeling from fatigue, with terror and despair in their
hearts, foul with dust and dripping with blood, a third part of the
British army in New England were hunted back to their fortifications as
the sun of the 19th of April, whose first beams had fallen upon the dead
at Lexington, went down in the west. Less than fifty Americans had been
killed, less than forty were wounded. Some of these, however, were
helpless persons, who were wantonly murdered in their houses by English
soldiers, their brains dashed out, and their bodies hacked and stabbed.
Women in childbirth were not exempt from the brutal fury of the flower of
the British army; and an idiot boy was deliberately shot as he sat on a
fence, vacantly staring at the passing rout. All, or most of the towns in
the neighborhood of Boston contributed their able-bodied men to the
American force during the day; but there was never more than a few hundred
together at one time, fresh relays taking the place of those whose
ammunition had been used up. Some of these squads performed prodigies of
endurance; one of them arrived at the scene of action after a march of
fifty-five miles. No man under seventy or over sixteen would stay at home;
and Josiah Haynes of Sudbury was marching and fighting from earliest dawn
till past noon, when he was killed by a grenadier's musket-ball. He was
born five years before the Eighteenth Century began.

At West Cambridge the Americans were met by Joseph Warren and General
Heath, who organized the heretofore irregular pursuit, and made it more
disastrous to the enemy than ever. Warren, in the front of danger, was
grazed by a bullet; but his time had not yet come. Fortunately for the
British, Charlestown Neck was near, and once across that they were for the
present safe. In fourteen hours they had learned more about America than
they could ever forget. The Americans, for their part, had not failed to
gather profit and confidence from the experiences of the day. The
paralysis of respect and loyalty to England was at an end. The antagonists
had met and measured their strength, and the undisciplined countrymen had
proved the stronger. At any given point of the retreat, the English had
always been the more numerous; but they showed neither heart nor ability
for the contest. The British Coffee House in King Street that night
presented a scene in marked contrast with that of the night before.

The rumors of the battle, and messages of information and appeal from the
leaders, were disseminated without delay, and in a space of time
wonderfully short had penetrated to the remotest of the colonies.
Everywhere they met with the same reception; all were eager to join in the
work so hopefully begun. Within a day or two, the force beleaguering
Boston numbered several thousand; but as many of these came and went
between the camp and their homes, no precise estimate can be made. They
were without artillery for bombardment, without a commissariat, and almost
without organization; and no leader had yet appeared capable of bringing
order out of the confusion. But not a few men afterward to be
distinguished were present there: the veteran John Stark, Benedict Arnold
from Connecticut, Israel Putnam, who rode a hundred miles on one horse to
join the provincial army; and Joseph Warren, were on the ground, and
others were to come. Boston was effectually surrounded; Gage and his
officers were afraid to order a sortie; and after a few days allowed the
non-loyalist inhabitants to leave the city, on their promise not to take
part in the siege. The chief deficiency of the Americans, or that at least
which most obviously pressed upon them, was the want of money:
Massachusetts had hitherto avoided paper; but it was no longer possible to
stand on scruples, and a bill to issue a hundred thousand pounds was
passed, and a quarter as much in bills of small denominations, to pay the
soldiers. The other colonies adopted similar measures. In New York, eighty
thousand pounds' worth of stores and supplies for Gage was seized by the
people, and no ships were allowed to leave the harbor for the succor of
the enemy. In Virginia, Patrick Henry and the young Madison, just out of
Princeton, were prominent in opposing Governor Dunmore's efforts to
establish "order." In Pennsylvania, men were raised and drilled, and
patriotic resolves adopted; and Franklin arrived from England in time to
be elected deputy to the second American Congress. The men of South
Carolina announced themselves ready to give "the half, or the whole" of
their estates for the security of their liberties, and voted to raise
three regiments. Georgia, with only three thousand militia, and under
threat of an Indian war on her frontier, fearlessly gave in her adhesion
to the general movement. In North Carolina, the news from Lexington
stampeded the governor, and left the people free to work their will. But
the next notable achievement, after the Concord fight and the running
battle, was the capture of Ticonderoga by Ethan Allen.

The design was formed in Connecticut, less than ten days after Lexington.
Ethan Allen was a Connecticut boy; but had early emigrated with his
brothers to the New Hampshire Grants, as Vermont was then called. These
grants, given by the governor of New Hampshire, were called in question by
New York, and officers from that colony tried to oust the settlers; in
their resistance, Allen was the leader, and attained local celebrity.
Parsons of Connecticut conferred with Benedict Arnold on the scheme of
capturing the old fortress; and communication was had with Allen, who,
being familiar with the Lake George region, and at the same time of
Connecticut stock, was esteemed the best man to associate with the
enterprise. Parsons and a few others raised money on their personal
security, and set out for the north, gathering companions as they went.
Ethan Allen met them at Bennington, with his company of Green Mountain
Boys, and was chosen leader of the adventure, Arnold, who had a commission
from Massachusetts, being ignored. On the 9th of May, the party, numbering
about eighty men, exclusive of the rear guard, which was left behind by
the exigencies of the occasion, landed on the shore near the fortress.
Ticonderoga was a strong place, even for a force provided with cannon; but
Allen had nothing but muskets, and everything depended upon a surprise. It
was just sunrise on the 10th when Allen addressed his men with "We must
this morning either quit our pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of
this fortress; and inasmuch as it is a desperate attempt, I do not urge
it, contrary to your will. You that will undertake voluntarily, poise your
firelocks!" The response was unanimous. The wicket of the stronghold was
found open; the sentry snapped his gun at Allen, missed him, and was
overpowered with a rush, together with the other guards. On the parade
within, a hollow square was formed, facing the four barracks; a wounded
sentry volunteered to conduct Allen to the commander, Delaplace. "Come
forth instantly, or I will sacrifice the whole garrison," thundered Allen,
at the door; and poor Delaplace, half awake, started up with his breeches
in his hand and wanted to know what was the matter.--"Deliver to me this
fort instantly!"--"By what authority?" inquired the stupefied commander.
The Vermonter was never at a loss either for a word or a blow.--"In the
name of the great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress!" and presenting
the point of his sword, he cut short further parley and received the
surrender. Fifty prisoners, with guns and stores, went with the fortress,
for which the British had sacrificed forty million dollars and several
campaigns; and not a drop of American blood was spilled. Ethan Allen is a
picturesque character, and the capture of Ticonderoga is one of the
picturesque episodes of the Revolutionary War, and a valuable exploit from
the military point of view; but it lacks inevitably the moral weight and
dignity of the Concord fight. Indeed, the significance of the entire
struggle between Britain and her colonies was summed up and typified in
that initial act of unsupported courage. What followed was but a corollary
and expansion of it.

On the same day that Allen overcame Delaplace, the second Congress met in
Philadelphia. It was a very conservative body, anxious that the war might
proceed no further, and hopeful that England might recognize the justice
of America's wish to be free while retaining the name of subjects of the
king. But affairs had now got beyond the control of congresses; the people
themselves were in command, and the legislature could do little more than
ascertain and register their will. The present Congress, indeed, had no
legislative powers, nor legal status of any kind; it was but the sober
mind of the several colonies thinking over the situation, and offering
advice here, warning there. It could not dispose of means to execute its
ideas, while yet it would be open to as much criticism as if it possessed
active powers. Naturally, therefore, its tendency was to be timid and
circumspect. It is memorable nevertheless for at least two resolutions of
high importance; it voted an army of twenty thousand men, and it named
George Washington as commander-in-chief. And when he declined to
countenance the proffered petition to King George, the ultimate prospect
of reconciliation with England vanished.





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