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True Stories from History and Biography by Nathaniel Hawthorne

N >> Nathaniel Hawthorne >> True Stories from History and Biography




Coming down to the epoch of the second charter, Hutchinson thought of the
ship-carpenter Phips, springing from the lowest of the people, and
attaining to the loftiest station in the land. But, he smiled to perceive
that this governor's example would awaken no turbulent ambition in the
lower orders, for it was a king's gracious boon alone that made the
ship-carpenter a ruler. Hutchinson rejoiced to mark the gradual growth of
an aristocratic class, to whom the common people, as in duty bound, were
learning humbly to resign the honors, emoluments, and authority of state.
He saw,--or else deceived himself--that, throughout this epoch, the people's
disposition to self-government had been growing weaker, through long
disuse, and now existed only as a faint traditionary feeling.

The Lieutenant-Governor's reverie had now come down to the period at which
he himself was sitting in the historic chair. He endeavored to throw his
glance forward, over the coming years. There, probably, he saw visions of
hereditary rank, for himself and other aristocratic colonists. He saw the
fertile fields of New England, portioned out among a few great
landholders, and descending by entail from generation to generation. He
saw the people a race of tenantry, dependent on their lords. He saw stars,
garters, coronets, and castles.

"But," added Grandfather, turning to Laurence, "the Lieutenant-Governor's
castles were built nowhere but among the red embers of the fire, before
which he was sitting. And, just as he had constructed a baronial residence
for himself and his posterity, the fire rolled down upon the hearth, and
crumbled it to ashes!"

Grandfather now looked at his watch, which hung within a beautiful little
ebony Temple, supported by four Ionic columns. He then laid his hand on
the golden locks of little Alice, whose head had sunk down upon the arm of
our illustrious chair.

"To bed, to bed, dear child!" said he. "Grandfather has put you to sleep,
already, by his stories about these FAMOUS OLD PEOPLE!"





PART III




Chapter I


On the evening of New Year's day, Grandfather was walking to and fro,
across the carpet, listening to the rain which beat hard against the
curtained windows. The riotous blast shook the casement, as if a strong
man were striving to force his entrance into the comfortable room. With
every puff of the wind, the fire leaped upward from the hearth, laughing
and rejoicing at the shrieks of the wintry storm.

Meanwhile, Grandfather's chair stood in its customary place by the
fireside. The bright blaze gleamed upon the fantastic figures of its oaken
back, and shone through the open-work, so that a complete pattern was
thrown upon the opposite side of the room. Sometimes, for a moment or two,
the shadow remained immovable, as if it were painted on the wall. Then,
all at once, it began to quiver, and leap, and dance, with a frisky
motion. Anon, seeming to remember that these antics were unworthy of such
a dignified and venerable chair, it suddenly stood still. But soon it
began to dance anew.

"Only see how grandfather's chair is dancing!" cried little Alice.

And she ran to the wall, and tried to catch hold of the flickering shadow;
for to children of five years old, a shadow seems almost as real as a
substance.

"I wish," said Clara, "Grandfather would sit down in the chair, and finish
its history."

If the children had been looking at Grandfather, they would have noticed
that he paused in his walk across the room, when Clara made this remark.
The kind old gentleman was ready and willing to resume his stories of
departed times. But he had resolved to wait till his auditors should
request him to proceed, in order that they might find the instructive
history of the chair a pleasure, and not a task.

"Grandfather," said Charley, "I am tired to death of this dismal rain, and
of hearing the wind roar in the chimney. I have had no good time all day.
It would be better to hear stories about the chair, than to sit doing
nothing, and thinking of nothing."

To say the truth, our friend Charley was very much out of humor with the
storm, because it had kept him all day within doors, and hindered him from
making trial of a splendid sled, which Grandfather had given him for a New
Year's gift. As all sleds, now-a-days, must have a name, the one in
question had been honored with the title of Grandfather's Chair, which was
painted in golden letters, on each of the sides. Charley greatly admired
the construction of the new vehicle, and felt certain that it would
outstrip any other sled that ever dashed adown the long slopes of the
Common.

As for Laurence, he happened to be thinking, just at this moment, about
the history of the chair. Kind old Grandfather had made him a present of a
volume of engraved portraits, representing the features of eminent and
famous people of all countries. Among them Laurence found several who had
formerly occupied our chair, or been connected with its adventures. While
Grandfather walked to and fro across the room, the imaginative boy was
gazing at the historic chair. He endeavored to summon up the portraits
which he had seen in his volume, and to place them, like living figures,
in the empty seat.

"The old chair has begun another year of its existence, to-day," said
Laurence. "We must make haste, or it will have a new history to be told
before we finish the old one."

"Yes, my children," replied Grandfather, with a smile and a sigh, "another
year has been added to those of the two centuries, and upward, which have
passed since the Lady Arbella brought this chair over from England. It is
three times as old as your Grandfather; but a year makes no impression on
its oaken frame, while it bends the old man nearer and nearer to the
earth; so let me go on with my stories while I may."

Accordingly, Grandfather came to the fireside, and seated himself in the
venerable chair. The lion's head looked down with a grimly good-natured
aspect, as the children clustered around the old gentleman's knees. It
almost seemed as if a real lion were peeping over the back of the chair,
and smiling at the group of auditors, with a sort of lion-like
complaisance. Little Alice, whose fancy often inspired her with singular
ideas, exclaimed that the lion's head was nodding at her, and that it
looked as if it were going to open its wide jaws and tell a story.

But, as the lion's head appeared to be in no haste to speak, and as there
was no record or tradition of its having spoken, during the whole
existence of the chair, Grandfather did not consider it worth while to
wait.




Chapter II


"Charley, my boy," said Grandfather, "do you remember who was the last
occupant of the chair?"

"It was Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson," answered Charley. "Sir Francis
Bernard, the new governor, had given him the chair, instead of putting it
away in the garret of the Province House. And when we took leave of
Hutchinson, he was sitting by his fireside, and thinking of the past
adventures of the chair, and of what was to come."

"Very well," said Grandfather; "and you recollect that this was in 1763,
or thereabouts, at the close of the Old French War. Now, that you may
fully comprehend the remaining adventures of the chair, I must make some
brief remarks on the situation and character of the New England colonies
at this period."

So Grandfather spoke of the earnest loyalty of our fathers during the Old
French War, and after the conquest of Canada had brought that war to a
triumphant close.

The people loved and reverenced the king of England, even more than if the
ocean had not rolled its waves between him and them; for, at the distance
of three thousand miles, they could not discover his bad qualities and
imperfections. Their love was increased by the dangers which they had
encountered in order to heighten his glory and extend his dominion.
Throughout the war, the American colonists had fought side by side with
the soldiers of Old England; and nearly thirty thousand young men had laid
down their lives for the honor of King George. And the survivors loved him
the better, because they had done and suffered so much for his sake.

But, there were some circumstances, that caused America to feel more
independent of England than at an earlier period. Canada and Acadia had
now become British provinces; and our fathers were no longer afraid of the
bands of French and Indians, who used to assault them in old times. For a
century and a half this had been the great terror of New England. Now, the
old French soldier was driven from the north forever. And, even had it
been otherwise the English colonies were growing so populous and powerful,
that they might have felt fully able to protect themselves without any
help from England.

There were thoughtful and sagacious men, who began to doubt, whether a
great country like America, would always be content to remain under the
government of an island three thousand miles away. This was the more
doubtful, because the English Parliament had long ago made laws which were
intended to be very beneficial to England, at the expense of America. By
these laws, the colonists were forbidden to manufacture articles for their
own use, or to carry on trade with any nation but the English.

"Now," continued Grandfather, "if King George the Third and his
counsellors had considered these things wisely, they would have taken
another course than they did. But, when they saw how rich and populous the
colonies had grown, their first thought was, how they might make more
profit out of them than heretofore. England was enormously in debt, at the
close of the Old French War, and it was pretended, that this debt had been
contracted for the defence of the American colonies, and that therefore a
part of it ought to be paid by them."

"Why, this was nonsense," exclaimed Charley; "did not our fathers spend
their lives and their money too, to get Canada for King George?"

"True, they did," said Grandfather; "and they told the English rulers so.
But the king and his ministers would not listen to good advice. In 1765,
the British Parliament passed a Stamp Act."

"What was that?" inquired Charley.

"The Stamp Act," replied Grandfather, "was a law by which all deeds,
bonds, and other papers of the same kind, were ordered to be marked with
the king's stamp; and without this mark, they were declared illegal and
void. Now, in order to get a blank sheet of paper, with the king's stamp
upon it, people were obliged to pay three pence more than the actual value
of the paper. And this extra sum of three pence was a tax, and was to be
paid into the king's treasury."

"I am sure three pence was not worth quarrelling about!" remarked Clara.

"It was not for three pence, nor for any amount of money, that America
quarrelled with England," replied Grandfather; "it was for a great
principle. The colonists were determined not to be taxed, except by their
own representatives. They said that neither the king and Parliament nor
any other power on earth, had a right to take their money out of their
pockets, unless they freely gave it. And, rather than pay three pence when
it was unjustly demanded, they resolved to sacrifice all the wealth of the
country, and their lives along with it. They therefore made a most
stubborn resistance to the Stamp Act."

"That was noble!" exclaimed Laurence. "I understand how it was. If they
had quietly paid this tax of three pence, they would have ceased to be
freemen, and would have become tributaries of England. And so they
contended about a great question of right and wrong, and put every thing
at stake for it."

"You are right, Laurence," said Grandfather; "and it was really amazing
and terrible to see what a change came over the aspect of the people, the
moment the English Parliament had passed this oppressive act. The former
history of our chair, my children, has given you some idea of what a
harsh, unyielding, stern set of men the old Puritans were. For a good many
years back, however, it had seemed as if these characteristics were
disappearing. But no sooner did England offer wrong to the colonies, than
the descendants of the early settlers proved that they had the same kind
of temper as their forefathers. The moment before, New England appeared
like an humble and loyal subject of the crown; the next instant, she
showed the grim, dark features of an old king-resisting Puritan."

Grandfather spoke briefly of the public measures that were taken in
opposition to the Stamp Act. As this law affected all the American
colonies alike, it naturally led them to think of consulting together in
order to procure its repeal. For this purpose, the legislature of
Massachusetts proposed that delegates from every colony should meet in
Congress. Accordingly nine colonies, both northern and southern, sent
delegates to the city of New York.

"And did they consult about going to war with England?" asked Charley.

"No, Charley," answered Grandfather; "a great deal of talking was yet to
be done, before England and America could come to blows. The Congress
stated the rights and the grievances of the colonists. They sent an humble
petition to the king, and a memorial to the Parliament, beseeching that
the Stamp Act might be repealed. This was all that the delegates had it in
their power to do."

"They might as well have staid at home, then," said Charley.

"By no means," replied Grandfather. "It was a most important and memorable
event--this first coming together of the American people, by their
representatives from the north and south. If England had been wise, she
would have trembled at the first word that was spoken in such an
assembly!"

These remonstrances and petitions, as Grandfather observed, were the work
of grave, thoughtful, and prudent men. Meantime, the young and hot-headed
people went to work in their own way. It is probable that the petitions of
Congress would have had little or no effect on the British statesmen, if
the violent deeds of the American people had not shown how much excited
the people were. LIBERTY TREE was soon heard of in England.

"What was Liberty Tree?" inquired Clara.

"It was an old elm tree," answered Grandfather, "which stood near the
corner of Essex street, opposite the Boylston market. Under the spreading
branches of this great tree, the people used to assemble, whenever they
wished to express their feelings and opinions. Thus, after a while, it
seemed as if the liberty of the country was connected with Liberty Tree."

"It was glorious fruit for a tree to bear," remarked Laurence.

[Image #3]

"It bore strange fruit, sometimes," said Grandfather. "One morning in
August, 1765, two figures were found hanging on the sturdy branches of
Liberty 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."

"What harm had he done?" inquired Charley.

"The king had appointed him to be distributor of the stamps," answered
Grandfather. "Mr. Oliver would have made a great deal of money by this
business. But the people frightened him so much by hanging him in effigy,
and afterwards by breaking into his house, that he promised to have
nothing to do with the stamps. And all the king's friends throughout
America were compelled to make the same promise."




Chapter III


"Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson," continued Grandfather, "now began to be
unquiet in our old chair. He had formerly been much respected and beloved
by the people, and had often proved himself a friend to their interests.
But the time was come, when he could not be a friend to the people,
without ceasing to be a friend to the king. It was pretty generally
understood, that Hutchinson would act according to the king's wishes,
right or wrong, like most of the other gentlemen who held offices under
the crown. Besides, as he was brother-in-law of Andrew Oliver, the people
now felt a particular dislike to him."

"I should think," said Laurence, "as Mr. Hutchinson had written the
history of our Puritan forefathers, he would have known what the temper of
the people was, and so have taken care not to wrong them."

"He trusted in the might of the king of England," replied Grandfather,
"and thought himself safe under the shelter of the throne. If no dispute
had arisen between the king and the people, Hutchinson would have had the
character of a wise, good, and patriotic magistrate. But, from the time
that he took part against the rights of his country, the people's love and
respect were turned to scorn and hatred; and he never had another hour of
peace."

In order to show what a fierce and dangerous spirit was now aroused among
the inhabitants, Grandfather related a passage from history, which we
shall call



THE HUTCHINSON MOB


On the evening of the twenty-sixth of August, 1765, a bonfire was kindled
in King Street. It flamed high upward, and threw a ruddy light over the
front of the town house, on which was displayed a carved representation of
the royal arms. The gilded vane of the cupola glittered in the blaze. The
kindling of this bonfire was the well known signal for the populace of
Boston to assemble in the street.

Before the tar-barrels, of which the bonfire was made, were half burnt
out, a great crowd had come together. They were chiefly laborers and
seafaring men, together with many young apprentices, and all those idle
people about town who are ready for any kind of mischief. Doubtless some
school-boys were among them.

While these rough figures stood round the blazing bonfire, you might hear
them speaking bitter words against the high officers of the province.
Governor Bernard, Hutchinson, Oliver, Storey, Hallowell, and other men
whom King George delighted to honor, were reviled as traitors to the
country. Now and then, perhaps, an officer of the crown passed along the
street, wearing the gold-laced hat, white wig, and embroidered waistcoat,
which were the fashion of the day. But, when the people beheld him, they
set up a wild and angry howl, and their faces had an evil aspect, which
was made more terrible by the flickering blaze of the bonfire.

"I should like to throw the traitor right into that blaze!" perhaps one
fierce rioter would say.

"Yes; and all his brethren too!" another might reply; "and the governor
and old Tommy Hutchinson into the hottest of it!"

"And the Earl of Bute along with them," muttered a third; "and burn the
whole pack of them under King George's nose! No matter if it singed him!"

Some such expressions as these, either shouted aloud, or muttered under
the breath, were doubtless heard in King Street. The mob, meanwhile, were
growing fiercer, and fiercer, and seemed ready even to set the town on
fire, for the sake of burning the king's friends out of house and home.
And yet, angry as they were, they sometimes broke into a loud roar of
laughter, as if mischief and destruction were their sport.

But we must now leave the rioters for a time, and take a peep into the
lieutenant-governor's splendid mansion. It was a large brick house,
decorated with Ionic pilasters, and stood in Garden Court Street, near the
North Square.

While the angry mob in King Street were shouting his name,
Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson sat quietly in Grandfather's chair,
unsuspicious of the evil that was about to fall upon his head. His beloved
family were in the room with him. He had thrown off his embroidered coat
and powdered wig, and had on a loose flowing gown and purple velvet cap.
He had likewise laid aside the cares of state, and all the thoughts that
had wearied and perplexed him throughout the day.

Perhaps, in the enjoyment of his home, he had forgotten all about the
Stamp Act, and scarcely remembered that there was a king, across the
ocean, who had resolved to make tributaries of the New Englanders.
Possibly, too, he had forgotten his own ambition, and would not have
exchanged his situation, at that moment, to be governor, or even a lord.

The wax candles were now lighted, and showed a handsome room, well
provided with rich furniture. On the walls hung the pictures of
Hutchinson's ancestors, who had been eminent men in their day, and were
honorably remembered in the history of the country. Every object served to
mark the residence of a rich, aristocratic gentleman, who held himself
high above the common people, and could have nothing to fear from them. In
a corner of the room, thrown carelessly upon a chair, were the scarlet
robes of the chief justice. This high office, as well as those of
lieutenant-governor, counsellor, and judge of probate, was filled by
Hutchinson.

Who or what could disturb the domestic quiet of such a great and powerful
personage as now sat in Grandfather's chair.

The lieutenant-governor's favorite daughter sat by his side. She leaned on
the arm of our great chair, and looked up affectionately into her father's
face, rejoicing to perceive that a quiet smile was on his lips. But
suddenly a shade came across her countenance. She seemed to listen
attentively, as if to catch a distant sound.

"What is the matter, my child?" inquired Hutchinson.

"Father, do not you hear a tumult in the streets?" said she.

The lieutenant-governor listened. But his ears were duller than those of
his daughter; he could hear nothing more terrible than the sound of a
summer breeze, sighing among the tops of the elm trees.

"No, foolish child!" he replied, playfully patting her cheek. "There is no
tumult. Our Boston mobs are satisfied with what mischief they have already
done. The king's friends need not tremble."

So Hutchinson resumed his pleasant and peaceful meditations, and again
forgot that there were any troubles in the world. But his family were
alarmed, and could not help straining their ears to catch the slightest
sound. More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then the trampling
of many feet. While they were listening, one of the neighbors rushed
breathless into the room.

"A mob!--a terrible mob!" cried he: "they have broken into Mr. Storey's
house, and into Mr. Hallowell's, and have made themselves drunk with the
liquors in his cellar, and now they are coming hither, as wild as so many
tigers. Flee, lieutenant-governor, for your life! for your life!"

"Father, dear father, make haste!" shrieked his children.

But Hutchinson would not hearken to them. He was an old lawyer; and he
could not realize that the people would do any thing so utterly lawless as
to assault him in his peaceful home. He was one of King George's chief
officers; and it would be an insult and outrage upon the king himself, if
the lieutenant-governor should suffer any wrong.

"Have no fears on my account," said he; "I am perfectly safe. The king's
name shall be my protection."

Yet he bade his family retire into one of the neighboring houses. His
daughter would have remained, but he forced her away.

The huzzas and riotous uproar of the mob were now heard, close at hand.
The sound was terrible, and struck Hutchinson with the same sort of dread
as if an enraged wild beast had broken loose, and were roaring for its
prey. He crept softly to the window. There he beheld an immense concourse
of people, filling all the street, and rolling onward to his house. It was
like a tempestuous flood, that had swelled beyond its bounds, and would
sweep every thing before it. Hutchinson trembled; 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 a loyalist and an aristocrat, like Hutchinson,
might have learned how powerless are kings, nobles, and great men, when
the low and humble range themselves against them. King George could do
nothing for his servant now. Had King George been there, he could have
done nothing for himself. If Hutchinson had understood this lesson, and
remembered it, he need not, in after years, have been an exile from his
native country, nor finally have laid his bones in a distant land.

There was now a rush against the doors of the house. The people sent up a
hoarse cry. At this instant, the lieutenant-governor's daughter, whom he
had supposed to be in a place of safety, ran into the room, and threw her
arms around him. She had returned by a private entrance.

"Father, are you mad!" cried she. "Will the king's name protect you now?
Come with me, or they will have your life."

"True," muttered Hutchinson to himself; "what care these roarers for the
name of king? I must flee, or they will trample me down, on the door of my
own dwelling!"

Hurrying away, he and his daughter made their escape by the private
passage, at the moment when the rioters broke into the house. The foremost
of them rushed up the stair-case, and entered the room which Hutchinson
had just quitted. There they beheld our good old chair, facing them with
quiet dignity, while the lion's head seemed to move its jaws in the
unsteady light of their torches. Perhaps the stately aspect of our
venerable friend, which had stood firm through a century and a half of
trouble, arrested them for an instant. But they were thrust forward by
those behind, and the chair lay overthrown.

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