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The king, finding his efforts to regulate the affairs of the colony under the old charter fruitless, at last lost patience, and determined to take the charter away. He sent Randolph to Boston with a letter, which thus pronounced the doom of liberty. He said : "We are fully resolved in Trinity term next ensuing, to direct our Attorney-General to bring a Quo- Warranto in our Court of King's Bench, whereby our charter granted unto you, with all the powers thereof, may be legally evicted and made void. And so we bid you farewell."
In 1684 the charter of Charles I., which had left the govern- ment of the colony almost wholly to the people, was rolled up and put away, a precious, but worthless, piece of parchment.
What next ?
Charles II. died on the 6th of February, 1685. He has been called the "Merry Monarch." His life was de- voted to pleasure. It is said that when the Dutch fleet was threatening the very gates of London, sailing proudly up the Thames, the king was attending a party at Lady Castlemaine's, and was amusing his favorites by chasing a moth that had strayed into the house.
James II. succeeded Charles. He was a Catholic. Pro- testant England had little love for him, and New England had none; but it was under him that Massachusetts was compelled to tolerate all religious beliefs. Strange as it may seem, it was thus that the Episcopal Church sprang into life in Boston.
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James appointed a provisional government for the colony, and commissioned Joseph Dudley as president. Dudley was soon succeeded by Sir Edmund Andros, who was appointed viceroy of all the New England colonies. He was a haughty, brusque, choleric man, bigoted, and determined to crush out the spirit of independence in New England, wherever it might be found.
The Boston people hated Andros, and were ripe for revolt. Early in the spring of 1689 news was received that William, Protestant Prince of Orange, who had married the Princess Mary, had landed in England, and driven James from the throne. Boston was filled with joy, and Andros was smitten with chagrin. He issued a proclamation, charging the people to hold themselves in readiness to resist any forces that the Prince of Orange might send. But the people raised a com- pany of men for quite a different purpose. These seized Andros, and made him their prisoner. King William soon ordered that Andros and Randolph should be sent to Eng- land, and the people were glad to have them go.
In 1692 a new charter was granted the colony, and Sir William Phips was appointed governor by the Crown.
Under the new charter, the governor was to be appointed by the king, and he was to have the appointment of all mili- tary officers. The General Court was to be elected by the people, as formerly, but the governor could prorogue it, and no act was to be valid without his consent. No money could be paid from the public treasury except upon his war- rant, approved by his council. This new charter brought the government of the colony directly under the power of the king.
So the colony became a province, and thus remained for nearly one hundred years.
This is a sad history, and this chapter is not an interesting one. We hope you may find the next more entertaining.
GOVERNOR ANDROS A PRISONER.
" "T Is sweet to remember ! When storms are abroad, We see in the rainbow the promise of God : The day may be darkened, - but far in the west, In vermilion and gold, sinks the sun to his rest ; With smiles like the morning he passeth away : Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play, When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowers Which Love scattered round us in happier hours."
W. G. CLARK.
CHAPTER IX.
WHEREIN ARE TOLD SOME STORIES OF OLD COLONY TIMES.
IN few communities have such marvellous stories been told as in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the days of John Cotton and the Mathers. The reader will readily believe this if he will consult Mather's "Magnalia," or the " Wonders of the Invisible World." But these stories, for the most part, were associated with Indians, ghosts, and awful judgments. Many families had escapes from Indians to relate. All had their ghost stories. Instead of the " Ara- bian Nights " wonder tales, or fairy stories, incidents like the Indian attack at Bloody Brook, or like the Salem witches, made the young shudder, as they left the evening fireside for the cold, dark chamber.
There were, however, some fireside stories other than those of Indians and ghosts. We give a few of them here.
THE STORY OF NIX'S MATE.
There lies a low, black island in the harbor, treeless, shrubless, herbless. There is no green thing upon it, not so much as a weed. The very sea-mosses seem to have forsaken it. The sea dashes upon it incessantly, wearing it away, and it seems to grow blacker, and certainly does become smaller, every year.
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The excursionists pass it on the bright summer days, as the gay boats drop down to Nahant, Nantasket, Downer Land- ing, Hull, and Hingham. The ocean passengers see it as they leave the havened waters, dotted with islands, for the open sea. Strangers look at the black pyramid that stands upon it and warns the pilot, and ask, -
" What is that? "
"That," says the old Bosto- nian, " is Nix's Mate."
The stranger thanks his in- formant, but does not quite understand. The strip of rock and the pyramid are so black and so mysterious, that they hold NIX'S MATE. his eye, as the boat glides on amid the summer towns and the green isles on either side.
The black island was green once, like other islands in the harbor. It was a place of execution for pirates. The island was selected for this purpose, because the sea robber, dangling in air, in his chains, could be seen by all the sailors as they passed into or out of the harbor. It must have been a grim sight, with the wind whistling around the gibbet.
There was in the early days of the colony a ship-master, named Nix. He was mysteriously murdered, and his body was buried on this island, more than two hundred years ago, when the island was green. His mate was accused of the murder, and was sentenced to be hanged. He declared his innocence.
When the time for execution came, he said, --
"I am not guilty of the crime with which I am charged. Before God, I did not the deed. God bear witness of my innocence. That the people may know that I am a guiltless man, may this island wholly disappear ! "
He was executed, and soon the sailors began to say, -
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" The island is withering. Nix's mate was an innocent man."
Time passed, and the people said, -
"The green earth has been washed away, and only the rocks remain. Nix's mate was surely an innocent man."
A century passed, and the hard rocks themselves seemed slowly shrinking away, under the action of the sea, and the old story-tellers told the new generation that the island was disappearing, as a witness to the innocence of Nix's mate.
" The mate murdered Nix And was executed, And, though the fact Seems much disputed,
" He informed his friends Both far and near, Were he innocent the island Would disappear.
" The island is gone; And the mate is free Of this cruel charge Made by history."
THE STORY OF REBECCA RAWSON.
The Puritan communities had their romances that, as in the case of gayer societies, became fireside tales. The Charlotte Temple of Boston, although her history has never been made the subject of a popular novel, was Rebecca Rawson.
Her father, Edward Rawson, was a distinguished man in the colony, and was for a long time secretary to the General Court. For thirty-six years his name appears in all the prin- cipal legal affairs of the colony. He died in 1693.
He lived on a pleasant, green street, called Rawson's Lane. It is now Bromfield Street.
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To his home the noblest men in the colony came, and there the most eminent visitors from abroad were sometimes enter- tained.
It was a pleasant neighborhood. Near it was the Winthrop House, where the Old South Church now stands, with its beautiful garden and flowing spring. The stately mansion, afterwards bought for the Province House, was near, with its broad yard and bowery trees. The new King's Chapel, then a wooden building, was but a few steps away, and where are now blocks and warehouses, on Tremont and Washington and Winter and School Streets, were green lawns, and behind the fine houses rose three hills, two of which have since been almost levelled, and cast into the sea, to make new land.
Secretary Rawson had a daughter, who was the delight of his home. Her name was Rebecca. She was famous for her loveliness and accomplishments. She received great attention from society, and young men sought her hand in marriage.
Sometime about the year 1678 there came to the colony a fascinating young man, who said he was the nephew of Lord Chief Justice Hale, of England. He claimed to be a knight, and was known as "Sir Thomas Hale." He was invited to the house of the Colonial Secretary, and there met the lovely Rebecca. He pretended to be enamored of her, and she re- turned his proffered affection with girlish trust and simplicity.
There was much rejoicing in the town when the wedding of " Sir Thomas " and Rebecca Rawson was announced. All were glad that the Secretary's beautiful daughter was to be connected with the wealthy and powerful English family.
Secretary Rawson, as was the custom of wealthy men of the period, gave the bride a rich outfit. Full of happiness, and with the most glowing anticipations, Rebecca left with her husband for England.
The ship had no sooner arrived in London than the bride- groom disappeared. The endowment that the Colonial
CHARLES CHASING THE MOTH.
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Secretary had bestowed upon his daughter, to make her suited to her high position, was carried away by him. Rebecca Rawson found herself among strangers, deserted, and with the dreadful suspicion she had been deceived.
Days of grief and crushing disappointment followed. She found that the man whom she had married was not a knight at all, but a mere adventurer, and that he had a deserted wife still living in Canterbury.
A child was born to her. Hope almost faded out of her young life. Her beauty withered, but her youthful pride remained.
Should she return to Boston ? No ; she said in her heart she could not do that. She could not meet her family and old friends, with the story of her great disappointment.
The abandoned wife, and the daughter of the rich and honored Provincial Secretary, determined to support herself and child by the industry of her own hands. She was skilled in needlework and painting, and by these arts she lived for some thirteen years.
But the memory of her old home in the bowery town haunted her ; the thought of her father, whose hair was now whitening with years, led her affections back over the sea. She resolved to return.
She embarked for Boston in a ship bound thither by the way of the West Indies. She arrived safely at Port Royal, in Jamaica. Being ready to proceed on the voyage, the ship again was preparing to spread sails to the winds.
It was a day in June, 1692. The sun had arisen, glim- mering in splendor over the thin mists of the ocean. Suddenly a subterranean thundering began. The crust of the earth was upheaved and shaken. There was a great vortex in the sea, and into this the ship was drawn, and went down to deeps unknown. Such was the melancholy history and sad end of Rebecca Rawson. Her father died soon after receiving the
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news of the loss of the ship in the great earthquake at Jamaica.
THE FIRST DUEL.
Some years ago we used to linger in summer-time under the delicious shade of the old Paddock elms that once stood on Tremont Street, in front of an ancient historic enclosure, called the Granary Burying-ground. The sights and scenes of the city were new to us, and we loved to watch the tide of travel that incessantly poured through the busy avenue.
Near the iron fence stands an old gravestone, whose in- scription can be read from the street, and that used to be not unfrequently deciphered by people waiting for the horse-cars, under the elms. It is as follows : -
" Here lies the body. of Benjamin Woodbridge, son of Hon. Dudley Woodbridge, who died July 3, 1728, in the twentieth year of his age."
We have already alluded to young Woodbridge. He was the son of a wealthy gentleman in Barbadoes, and was sent to Harvard College to be educated. He seems to have had an ardent, kindly nature, spirited, social, and keenly sus- ceptible to friendship. He had an intimate friend by the name of Samuel Phillips, a graduate of the college, and connected with the best colonial families.
Never did life open with fairer prospects before two young men. But their warm, social nature led them to the gaming- table, and gambling to the free use of wine, and their lives were suddenly eclipsed by an act that sent a thrill of excite- ment and terror through the town of Boston.
A dispute arose between them, and young Phillips killed Woodbridge in a duel on Boston Common, on a summer's night in July, more than one hundred and fifty years ago.
1676.
Fohn Shenhan. 161
Phillips, conscience-smitten, fled to Rochelle, France, that charming city of the waters. He sought to gratify his æsthetic taste amid historic scenes ; but neither the refine- ments of art nor the morning and evening splendors of the bay could efface the memory of the stain of blood. He died of a broken heart exactly one year from the death of his victim.
The Puritans made mistakes at times, but their principles were in the main correct. Had that young man learned the principles of the good people about him, and practised them, his gravestone would have had a different date. We have often recalled, as we have seen a young man beginning a course of dissipation, this solitary grave here, and another in far Rochelle.
JOHN SHENHAN.
A STORY OF 1676.
"O Johnny, my boy, be spry ! Don't you see The morning sun hangs o'er the vale of the Lee ? Hear the birds singing sweet in the tops of the trees, And the bells of old Cork swinging light in the breeze. O Johnny, O Johnny, you are dear unto me, But an idler lad ne'er was seen on the Lee."
" O mither, ne'er mind, for my spirit is bold, And I'm going away to the country of gold. I long on the breast of the billows to rock, And sink in the ocean the harbor of Cork. O mither, be aisy, for soon you will see Of me nothing more in the vale of the Lee."
" O Johnny, be steady, and listen no more To the tales that they tell in the inn on the shore. Be honest and steady, and you will find gold In Ireland's soil. My boy, I am old. My hair is fast changing ; hey, boy, don't you see ? Oh, stay wi' me here in the vale of the Lee."
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He sat with his mother that eve 'neath the tree, The moon hanging low on the wave of the Lee. " Oh, stay wi' me, boy, and ne'er mind the gold !" " I'll come back to ye, mither, to cheer ye when old." He kissed her next morn on an ocean-swept rock, And sunk in the ocean the harbor of Cork.
He worked a hard passage across the wide main, Till hilltops arose from the ocean again, - Till a town in the wilderness glanced on the seas From three beautiful heights overshadowed with trees. He hailed the new land with a shout of delight, And slept in the inn near the harbor that night.
He arose the next morn with a gold-haunted brain, He walked near the town in a sun-sprinkled lane ; He saw the new houses uplifting their walls, And the cottages cool on the banks of the Charles ; And he saw, dismal sight! with a shudder of pain, The gallows that hung mid the trees in the lane.
He at last met a Puritan, stately and old, And asked him the way to the region of gold. "By the sweat of thy brow," the grave Puritan said, And he looked on the boy with a shake of the head. And all that he questioned the same story told Of the Puritan way to the region of gold.
Time passed ; he worked hard, with a resolute will, But felt the sharp pinches of poverty still. His language was thick ; they were loath to employ At wages, like others, the poor Irish boy. And Johnny grew heavy at heart in the end, And wished, but in vain, for a pitying friend.
'T was June - a calm night - the moon hung o'er the walls Of the houses that stood on the banks of the Charles. It silvered the lane and the pastures beyond ; It silvered the roses that margined the pond ; It silvered the ringlets of Johnny's light hair, As he sat 'neath the elm in the cool summer air.
OLD TIME COURTESIES.
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O Johnny Shenhan, what's the matter with thee ? Are thy thoughts far away on the banks of the Lee ? Oh, why dost thou start at each step passing by ? And why does that stealthy look fall from thy eye ? He leans his young brow on his trembling palms, And hears in the distance the music of psalms.
He creeps towards a house, - it stands on the hill, The windows are open, the rooms are all still. On the top of the desk there are papers unrolled, In the till of the desk, it may be, there is gold. He climbs through the casement, he opens the till, Then flies like a ghost o'er the brow of the hill.
Gold ! gold ! he has gold, but, his innocence gone, Sleep flies from his eyes and he trembles till morn. He has gained what was never a Shenhan's before, He has lost what eternity cannot restore. No lad in the town is as wretched as he, He wishes him back in the vale of the Lee.
When the moonlight again on the summer trees fell, It reached not poor Johnny, - he lay in a cell. He was brought into court, the men held their breath, While the judge pronounced slowly his sentence, -'t was death ! He stood like one smitten, tears rolled from his face And he bitterly said as he turned from the place, -
" My sentence is hard, oh, how dreadful to bear ! But, sheriff, 't is less for myself that I care Than for her who looks out from the ocean-swept rock For the sails that come home to the harbor of Cork ! Oh, the ships will come back o'er the foam-covered sea, But bring not her boy to the vale of the Lee !"
'T was autumn, - a coolness came down with the breeze, The gold and vermilion hung light on the trees, The scaffold was ready, -it stood where to-day The boys of the city have freedom to play, O'erlooking the Common, o'erlooking the pond, O'erlooking the river that rippled beyond.
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A multitude gathered, as people now go To see the odd sights at a fair or a show, And Johnny was brought, - he looked on the air, And the river that rolled in the full sunlight there, He looked on the faces upturned like a sea, And his thought wandered back to the vale of the Lee.
" Forgive me," he said, and the tears gathered fast When he saw that the hour of man's mercy was past, "Though just is the sentence my error receives, 'T is hard to die thus while a poor mother lives. The ships will return o'er the fair sunny sea, And a heart will be broke in the vale of the Lee."
ELDER BREWSTER'S CHAIR.
" WHAT constitutes a state ? Not high-raised battlements, or labored mound, Thick wall, or moated gate ;
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned, Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, proud navies ride ; Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride ! No ! - men, - high-minded MEN, - Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain."
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CHAPTER X.
WHEREIN IS GIVEN SOME ACCOUNT OF THE TIMES OF THE ELEVEN ROYAL GOVERNORS AND OF THE OLD PROVINCE HOUSE.
THESE were the days of Queen Anne and the Georges.
The democratic governors of the golden age of the charter were gone, - Winthrop, Sir Henry Vane, Dudley, Endicott, Haynes, Bellingham, Leverett,- and with them the republi- canism of half a hundred years. A new period of growth and prosperity was at hand, but with it came a struggle against the encroachments of a foreign power, that lasted nearly a century before blood was spilt. It was a brilliant period of progress, education, thrifty industry, and religious develop- ment, - that of the eleven royal governors.
These governors were : -
SIR WILLIAM PHIPS,
JONATHAN BELCHER,
RICHARD, EARL OF BELLOMONT,
JOSEPH DUDLEY, SAMUEL SHUTE,
WILLIAM BARNET,
WILLIAM SHIRLEY,
THOMAS POWNALL,
SIR FRANCIS BERNARD, THOMAS HUTCHINSON,
GEN. THOMAS GAGE.
The period of growth under political repression, during which the colony was subject to the vice-regal power of these eleven governors, lasted from 1692 to the Revolution, or more than eighty years. It began under the reign of
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William and Mary, and continued through the reigns of Queen Anne, George I., George II., and a part of that of George III.
The first of these governors had a very wonderful history.
THE STORY OF SIR WILLIAM PHIPS, AND HIS GREAT GOOD FORTUNE.
William Phips was a poor boy. He rose to eminence by energy of character, but was helped by a series of fortunate circumstances that make his life read like a romance in which some magic power leads an ambitious adventurer to caverns of gold.
The first statement to be made in his biography is different from any other we have ever seen. He was one of a family of twenty-one sons, and of twenty-six children born to the same mother. Families were very large in old colony times. His father was James Phips, a blacksmith, and an early settler in the woods of Maine. He little dreamed while working to support his large family in the wilderness of the Kennebec that one of his sons would become the first man in the country in wealth and position, and wear the star of knighthood.
William was born Feb. 2, 1651, and soon after his birth his father died. We know nothing about the other members of the family except their astonishing number. He tended sheep amid wolves and savages until he was eighteen years of age, and his education was confined to the stories of the foresters alone.
But he had in him that restless energy which, rightly di- rected, leads to success. He learned how to build coasters on the Kennebec, and he began to make voyages in them. It was a profitable business, and proved the beginning of the great shipbuilding industry of Maine.
QUEEN ANNE.
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The Story of Sir William Phips. 173
Young Phips now began to hear of the great world, and to have visions of wealth and greatness. He came to Boston at the age of twenty-two. Here he learned to read and to write his name. He married a widow who had once been in comfortable circumstances, but had lost her property.
" Never you mind," he said, " we will have a fair brick house in the Green Lane of North Boston some day."
The Green Lane was the Beacon Street of Boston then.
He went back to Maine and engaged in shipbuilding. Sailors told him exciting stories of sunken treasures in the Spanish Main. One of these stories of a sunken treasure- ship was known to be true.
Could she not be recovered ?
Could he not recover her ?
If so, wealth untold would be his !
Dreaming of gold he went to London and applied to the Admiralty for the use of an eighteen-gun ship, for the pur- pose of bringing up the lost treasure-ship. It was granted him. He went to Bahama. From an old Spaniard he learned the precise spot where the galleon had foundered nearly a half-century before. This was the only fruit of his first voyage.
He returned to England full of glittering visions and asked for a better outfit. The Duke of Albemarle provided him with vessels. In this voyage he beheld in reality the prize of the sea. He fished up its bullion from the rocks to the value of more than $1,500,000, in gold, silver, and precious stones. He returned to England in triumph, and was hailed as a hero. He was knighted. Lady Phips was presented with a gold cup worth $5,000.
He was made governor of the Colony of Massachusetts in 1692, and he and Lady Phips did indeed occupy a " fair brick house in the Green Lane."
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In 1697 Richard Coote, Earl of Bellomont, an Irish peer, was appointed governor. He came to Boston at the close of the century, in 1699. New England contained a population of about seventy-five thousand at this time. He was a popular governor. He died in 1701.
He was succeeded by Joseph Dudley, son of Thomas Dudley of the times of Winthrop. He was an unpopular gov- ernor. He had difficulties with the Mather family, and came to be held in general ill esteem. Having been intimate with Andros and Randolph, he was believed to be too fully in sympathy with the English policy of denying the rights of the people to shape the government of their own affairs. He tried to compel the General Court to pay him a salary, which it refused to do. The Court had made the former governors " presents," and as they had been very accommodating, these presents had been liberal. To the Earl of Bellomont had been given £1,875. But the Court allowed Dudley but £600 a year. Governor Shute, who succeeded him, was even less appreciated, for he was allowed but £360.
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