USA > Massachusetts > Plymouth County > Hingham > History of the town of Hingham, Massachusetts, vol 1 > Part 25
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In February, 1676, the selectmen forbade, under a penalty of twenty shillings for each offence, any person from harboring or entertaining any Indian within the limits of the town.
Early in February the little army of Massachusetts returned to Boston, and the men were dismissed to their homes. But the vigorous prosecution of the campaign by Philip in the very first
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days of spring, his successful attack on one place after another, together with the destruction of Captain Pierce, of Scituate, and nearly all his command, while in pursuit of a body of Indians near Seekonk, the burning of Marlborough, and the murders at Long Meadow, all on March 26th, imperatively called for the speedy reassemblage of the troops, and for vigorous measures by the three colonies. It would not be easy to overestimate the anxiety and alarm at this time. Various plans were proposed, and among them was that of building a continuous stockade from Charles River to the Merrimac. This was only negatived because of its magnitude. In the various towns the forts and garrison houses were constantly occupied, and the utmost precaution taken against surprise. May we venture, for the sake of the better understanding of the time, to attempt one more sketch, outlined by the recorded facts and the bits of tradition, but shaded and filled in rather by the assistance of our general knowledge of the people, the times, and the situation, than by any particulars of the especial day ?
It is the 16th of April, and the Sabbath-day ; a bright, crisp morning, but the sun is already softening the surface of the quiet pools thinly skimmed, perhaps for the last time in the earlier hours; the frost coming out of the ground makes moist the paths ; the brook at the foot of the meeting-house hill is dancing with its swollen flood and sparkling in the sunlight, while over and along it the pussy-willows are already nodding, and the red maple's blossoms go sailing and tossing in the pools and eddies. A little further up the stream the ever-graceful elms are begin- ning to look fresh and feathery in their swelling and opening buds, while on the slopes rising up from the valley the blossoms of the wild cherry and the dogwood gleam white among the dark trunks and branches of the oaks and the sombre shadows of the evergreens. In the warm nooks the blue, and in the swampier meadow the white violet breathes out the same faint sweetness which in the same spots, two hundred years later, will delight the school-children of another age, while above them the red berries of the alder and the seed-vessels of last year's wild roses give brightness and color to the shrubbery not yet awakened to its new life ; the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the robin twitter in the branches, while a great black crow lazily flaps his way across to the horizon ; possibly here and there, in some shaded and protected places, the melting remnants of a late snow linger yet, but in the clearings elsewhere the young grass has already veiled the earth in fresh green. The furrows of the planting fields show that the farmer has already commenced his prepara- tion for the spring sowing, but some of the more distant lots tell of the universal apprehension, for last autumn's stubble in them still stands unmolested. The quiet of the Puritan Sabbath has no fears for his highness the barnyard cock, whose clarion and
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cheery notes are heard far and near, while faint columns and blue wreaths of smoke rising here and there cach mark the home of a settler. Hours since, with the rising sun, Steven Lincoln has beaten the drum, and the tired and half-frozen sentry has been relieved and replaced by the " warde for the Lord's day ; " the quaint, palisaded log building, with its belfry, which had served so long as a house of worship, of a meeting place for pub- lic conference, of refuge in alarm, of storage for ammunition, of defence from danger, and which is getting old and must soon be deserted, still stands overlooking the village, its doors wide open for the nine o'clock service, and the clanging of its little bell bidding the living to "remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy," while to them under the little green mounds on the slope between the two roads it tolls a requiem. Goodman Pitts, the venerable sexton, still restrains with his watchful eye the small boy and awes him into a temporary quiet, while the people move decorously into their allotted places, the' men and the women each into their own parts of the house. See them as they come picking out the best and dryest places between the deep ruts and along the paths, now two or three abreast, and now in single file, stretching along the ways leading to the meeting-house. How sturdy the men look, with their belted coats and broad- brimmed hats, and the inevitable musket, which each places against the building or some neighboring tree before entering ! How cheery the goodwives seem, even in the midst of the gen- eral anxiety, as they greet each other and pause for a word of inquiry about the children - by no means few in number - who are trailing along after ; and how sweet the Puritan maidens seem to us as they glance shyly at the great rough lads, whom danger and responsibility have so quickly transformed into manly young soldiers. Here from the Plain comes John Bull, and his young wife, Goodman Pitts's daughter, bringing perhaps a message and report to Captain Hobart from Lieutenant Smith, whose watchful care for the fort keeps him away to-day. Indeed, many a one is forced by the threatening peril to an unusual absence, and the attendance will be strangely small. Still, most of the people from the lower part of the town are on their way, though with anxious hearts, and many a thought will wander from the long sermon of the day to the little home, and every sound from without will strain again the already weary ears. There, crossing the bridge by the corduroy road, is John Langlee, leading his little daughter Sarah, and talking by the way to young Peter Barnes ; while close behind come Sergeant Thomas Andrews, with his wife and six children ; and a few rods further back we see Mr. Samuel Lincoln and Mrs. Lincoln, with their straight young son Samuel, whose title of cornet is well deserved, and who is not only the pride of his parents, but one of the heroes of the town for his gallant part in the great Narragansett fight; there, too, are his VOL. I. - 16
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brothers, and two or three of his little sisters, following as sol- emnly as youth and a bright day will permit. Just stepping out of his door is Benjamin Lincoln, whose wife, Sarah, with her little son John and six-years-old Margaret, are stopping to greet their uncles, John and Israel Fearing, who live next door. Rounding the corner of Bachelor's Row, with a brisk stride and erect carriage, we see Ensign John Thaxter, who has come down from the fort on Fort Hill, where all seems tranquil, leaving Ser- geant Daniel Lincoln in charge while he attends meeting and holds a council of war with Captain Hobart. On his way we presume he stopped at the garrison house at Austin's Lane to speak a word of warning and make a kindly inquiry for Mrs. Bate and the four-days-old girl ; and only a moment ago we saw a sterner look as he sharply inquired of the luckless inmate of the stocks what folly had made him a victim on this Sabbath morning. Near a large tree upon the hill, and against whose broad trunk rest half a dozen muskets, quietly awaiting Ensign Thaxter, stands one of Hingham's two foremost citizens, the late speaker of the House of Deputies and captain of the town forces. Captain Hobart is sixty-two years of age, and among the darker locks the gray hairs are thickly scattered, yet in his well-knit figure there is little sign of age ; a strong, able, brave, wise man, loaded with all the honors in the gift of his townsmen, faithful for many years in their service, he is crowning his work by a care and watchfulness which will save those whose confidence is so well reposed in him from the horrors which have devastated so many sister communities. Even now he might have been seen coming along the path among the trees that runs between the meeting-house and the central fort, the garrison of which latter he has in part relieved for the services of the day.
As the soldier in long boots, short-belted coat and sword, with his alert military air waits, we note the similarity and yet the dissimilarity between him and the slightly bent and older figure which in long cloak and buckled shoes is rather slowly mounting the hill, though declining the proffered arm of Ensign Thaxter. It is Parson Hobart himself, ten years the senior of his distin- guished brother, and in disposition scarcely less a soldier. His long ministry is drawing near its close, but there is little diminu- tion in the sparkle of his eye or the vigor of his manner. We can almost see the grave salute with which the Captain greets the Elder, and the equal gravity with which it is returned; we seem to hear the brief inquiry and reply, after which the one passes into the presence of his assembling congregation, while the other remains for a short interview with his subordinate.
Within the house are the Hobarts, brothers and nephews of the old parson, the Beals, Dr. Cutler, Joseph Church, Daniel and Samuel Stodder, with numerous members of their large families, Joseph Joy, Samuel Thaxter, and many others. Even now we
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can almost feel the uneasy restlessness which pervades the wor- shippers. Many of the friends, usually so regular in their attend- ance, are away in the forts and garrison houses, and all through the sermon, probably several hours long, the thoughts of the listeners wander, and the strained ears catch with apprehension every unusual noise from without. We imagine, too, that when at last Captain Hobart and Ensign Thaxter enter to join in the service, neither will take their accustomed seats, but more likely will remain near the door, and where perhaps the keen eye of the commander can keep within view the muskets without, and oc- casionally catch a glimpse of the "warde," moving from one point of vantage to another. Meanwhile the latter, not perhaps sorry to be in the open air this April morning, keeps eye and ear alert for sign or sound of the wily foe. From the summit almost the whole of the lower village can be seen. Across the glassy waters of the inner bay, which, stretching away from his very feet, are broken into several shady coves and dotted with islands, he is following with ill-pleased attention a canoe paddled by an Indian, who a moment later may be seen climbing the cliffs on the eastern shore and losing himself in the forest paths which lead toward Neck Gate Hill, from behind which a faint blue smoke rises and fades slowly away. There on the southeastern slope, and nearly at the foot of the hill, are the wigwams of the little-trusted countrymen of Philip who yet remain in the vicinity. This spot, by tradition said to have been the last camping-place of the Indian in Hingham, is comprehended in the property now owned by Mr. T. T. Bouve, and called, from the fact and the configura- tion of the land, "Indian Hollow." The smooth lawn of the present day shows no sign, but the plow would reveal a long and broad line of disintegrating clam-shells, doubtless a shell-heap of the former inhabitants, and several implements have been picked up in the immediate vicinity which were formerly in use by them. However, beyond a mental growl of dissatisfac- tion at what he termed the folly of allowing the encampment to remain, our sentry of 1676 could do nothing; so, turning towards the blue waters of the harbor, his eye falls upon the ship-yard of William Pitts, the first one established in Hingham. He watches, too, for a few moments the white sails of a West Indiaman as she passes between Nantasket and George's Island and thence towards Boston. Then he walks slowly over to the new fort, and carefully scans the country in every direction as far as the eye can reach and the forests permit. And so the long hours pass away until the close of the service brings the uneasy officers out of the meeting, first of all for a conference with the watch, who, however, has little to report. And now the worshippers are wending their way homeward, singly and in groups, some discussing the weather, and others, it is probable, commenting, like their descendants of later generations, upon
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the sermon which they have just heard, while we may be sure all are thankful to return once more to undespoiled homes. Others, who come from a great distance, meet together and eat the frugal luncheon between the morning and afternoon service, while a. few, husband and wife, mount pillion fashion the horses which have been awaiting the close of the services under the trees, and ride to their homes.
As the rich glow of the setting sun crimsons the glassy harbor and turns to gold the fleecy clouds of April, while the shadows creep up from the valleys, the tap-tap and rattle and roll of Steven Lincoln's drum sings the vespers of the Puritans, and the Sabbath is over. Then comes the new watch, who being properly instructed and posted begins his hours of vigil. The garrisons are carefully looked to ; the orders for the night issued. The poor victim of the stocks, if not before released, is now given liberty. The restraints upon the children are relaxed, and during the brief period of twilight secular pursuits are resumed ; the cattle are seen to, the wood brought in, and the wide old-fashioned fireplaces blaze and crackle with the long sticks, while above the kettle hisses and sings and its cover rises and falls and rattles. Here and there the tallow dip assists in its poor faint way "the busy housewife ply her evening care," and then an hour later, the low thatched-roof cottages are wrapped in darkness, and the stars shine out upon the town at rest. Only the half-chilled, weary soldier on guard watches for the beacon, or listens for the signal guns which shall call the men of Hingham to the aid of Nan- tasket or Scituate or Weymouth, or awaken them to the defence of their own wives and children and homes.
What a dreary duty it is, too, this waiting and fearing for the dreaded warwhoop of the Indian in the still and lonesome hours of the night. How the eye grows strained peering into the dark- ness and the ear weary listening, and with what a nervous start each new sound, each before unnoticed shadow is noted by the young sentry moving among the aisles of the great trees on the height overlooking the village ! What a relief, though all too brief, is the visit of Captain Hobart, whose vigilance causes many a restless and wakeful hour in these trying days ; and how doubly appalling seems the solitude as the sound of the Captain's re- treating steps die away in the distance, leaving the long hours until dawn to be counted away alone, before whose coming the sentry's breath shall more than once stop, while he hears the beating of his own heart, at the imagined creeping form of an Indian.
The defences of Hingham and the preparation for the protection of her inhabitants have already been described. Even in the absence of other evidence, the comparative immunity of the settle- ment from serious loss and the total failure on the part of the Indians, almost constantly lurking in the vicinity, to effect any- thing like a general surprise, would in themselves be strong
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indications of the ability and watchfulness of those responsible for the safety of the town. The incidents attending the several attempts upon it, and the intelligent location of the forts and garrison houses, with their garrisons at this time made permanent, the mutual support which they afforded each other, and the fact that scarcely a house from Fort Hill to Broad Bridge, and thence to South Hingham, was beyond the range of fire of one or more of them, added to the vigilance which anticipated and forestalled panic when the hour of peril and trial at last came, furnish indu- bitable proof of the military instinct, knowledge, foresight, and faithfulness of Joshua Hobart, John Smith, and John Thaxter. Beyond question it is to this due that the two known attempts against the town met with comparative failure ; of others, con- templated but abandoned, owing to the thorough dispositions for meeting them, we of course know little.
In this connection we recall the old tradition that Philip himself was at one time concealed within our borders and awaiting per- haps a favorable opportunity to make a descent. As the story runs, he lay somewhere in the region known as the swamp, which in those days extended with scarcely a break from Broad Bridge to near the Weymouth line, and included the location of Round Pond and the district known as Bear Swamp. The sagacious chief probably concluded that the chance of success was too small and the risk of severe loss too great to justify a movement against the lower part of the town, and therefore prudently withidrew. No amount of caution, however, could insure individual life or the safety of isolated farms against the silence and celerity of the Indian war parties. One of these, having perhaps eluded Captain Jacob, whose small force could hardly hope to cover the long frontier assigned to its care, was moderately successful at South Hingham in bringing the terror and horrors of the war home to our own firesides.
On Wednesday, the 19th of April, young John Jacob, who, as it will be recalled, had served against Philip the previous autumn, and had seen his brave captain fall before the fort of the Narra- gansetts, took his gun and went out to shoot the deer that had been trespassing upon a field of buckwheat near his father's house and not far from the site of the present Great Plain Meeting-house. He was a famous hunter and of a fighting stock, and he had been heard to declare that he would never be taken alive by the Indians. Little did he dream that spring morning that his would be the only blood ever shed by a public enemy upon the soil of his native town.
The simple and brief accounts, with a little assistance perhaps of the imagination, bring like a living panorama before us the events, the homes, and the actors of that and the following day in the far away time when our prosaic town was making a part of the history which has become one of the romantic chapters of New
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. England's story. On this 19th of April, then, of the year 1676, and shortly after the disappearance of Jacob, the sound of a musket breaking the stillness and echoing against the great solitary rock that stands like a mighty monument in the field not far from the travelled way, momentarily attracts the attention of the neighbors whose habits of industry have overcome the general prudence, and who had been enticed to a little early planting on the home lot. Beyond the fleeting thought of their friend's success in his efforts to chastise the mischievous destroyers of the winter wheat, the incident attracts no attention, and soon passes from the minds of the workers. With the lapse of considerable time, however, and the continued absence of the hunter, there arises a feeling of strained uneasiness ; finally a search is made, and there beside his gun, which has been battered to pieces, the young soldier lies dead. The terrifying truth flashes across the searchers as they tenderly and hastily bear their neighbor to his father's home. The Indians are in Hingham and have been lying concealed during the night near the wheat-field, and almost close to the homes of the settlers! And now in an instant and from every side, out of the calm and quiet of the village street there starts the life, the uncontrolled excitement, the panie and terror of the community, above and about whom the threatening horror of the tomahawk and scalping-knife already seems to gleam, and before whose fevered imagination come all too readily pictures of cruelty and torture. The blanched faces of men and women alike, the eling- ing fear of the children, the hurrying to the nearest garrison houses of those not already therein, the exaggerated stories and rumors, the cry " The Indians! the Indians!" rising above all other sounds, repeated again and again, carrying consternation from the Great Plain to the harbor, and falling upon the startled ear of the farmer in the field and the wife in the kitchen, -how the sights and the sounds of that day thrill us through these passed centuries !
And soon we hear the sharp changing of the little bell on the meeting-house, the beat and roll and rattle of the drum, the sharp reports of the three alarm muskets, and into the forts, the pali- saded church, and the garrison houses come the streaming, hurry- ing throng. We fancy we can see brave Joshua Hobart making, calmly and sternly, his dispositions for defence, and even person- ally visiting and instructing each sentry and urging to unceasing vigilance ; or brilliant John Thaxter ably seconding his chief, and inspiring with confidence the garrisons at Austin's Lane and Fort Hill ; or John Smith cheering the people as they flock into the protecting works on the common field. And there come be- fore us, too, sturdy John Tower and his sons and "one or two more persons," as his petition reads, holding his little fort and covering a long section of the river and the homes of his neigh- bors with his muskets, while he checks the panic with his plain,
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strong words. Nor is it possible to overlook the figure in the long cloak, moving more slowly, it is true, than when speaking his mind to the magistrates, but still with considerable vigor and the natural grace of a man of superior mind and strong will ; every- one recognizes immediately the venerable minister, and many a word of hope and many an admonition to duty he speaks as he passes among his people exerting his quieting influence upon them. With our knowledge of his younger days, we cannot help thinking that he had moments of impatience in the reflection that his age and calling prevented a more active participation in the move- ments against the enemy ; nor would it surprise us to learn that Parson Hobart more than once thought, and even said, that if he were Captain Hobart the military operations would be conducted with more reference to an offensive policy. Be that as it may, the latter's dispositions saved the town and the lives of those whose safety was committed to his care.
Succeeding the first alarm there followed many weary hours of anxiety and waiting. The day, with its exciting rumors and exaggerated stories, wore away, and a night of watchfulness, with a terror hanging over the people huddled together in their strange quarters difficult to picture, seemed interminable. Nor was the dawn much more reassuring, for soon the smoke from the burning homes of Joseph Jones and Anthony Sprague "over the river," and of Israel Hobart, Nathaniel Chubbuck, and James Whiton rose into view from widely separated points on the south- ern horizon, and added fresh consternation to the anxious watchers. These fires, however, were the last acts of the Indians, who abandoned the attack. The second visit was just one month later, being the 20th of May. It was even more fruitless, and the savages soon passed into Scituate, which they largely destroyed.
Oct. 12, 1676, the General Court ordered " That Hingham be allowed and abated out of their last tax rates towards their losses by the enemy the sum of ten pounds."
The soldiers from Hingham appear to have been engaged in some of the most arduous service of the war, for besides leading the van in the great Narragansett fight, as already stated, we find them serving under the immediate command of their old towns- man, the brave Captain Church, on Martha's Vineyard and the adjacent islands ; and it need not be said that service under that officer was of the most active kind.
August the 12th Philip was killed at Mt. Hope and the war closed, but the military preparations of the colony rather in- creased than otherwise, and the towns as a necessary conse- quence participated in the general activity. In 1679 a petition for leave to form a small troop of horse in Hingham, Weymouth, and Hull, signed by Captain Hobart and others, was granted, and in June of the following year Ensign John Thaxter, whom we have already seen as one of Captain Hobart's company officers,
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and who earlier, in 1664, had served with such distinction in the expedition against the Dutch in New York as to be " preferred for," as the phrase runs, under orders of Cromwell, was commis- sioned to its command, with Samuel White, probably of Wey- mouth, as lieutenant, and Matthew Cushing as cornet, "so as the said Matthew Cushing take the oath of freedom," which he appears to have done. The same year Jacob Nash was appointed quartermaster, and the new troop together with the rest of the military in the town was attached to a new regiment under Maj. Wm. Stoughton.
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