CHAPTER IX.
ENGLAND AND NEW ENGLAND,
The children were now accustomed to assemble round Grandfather's chair
at all their unoccupied moments; and often it was a striking picture to
behold the white-headed old sire, with this flowery wreath of young
people around him. When he talked to them, it was the past speaking to
the present, or rather to the future,--for the children were of a
generation which had not become actual. Their part in life, thus far,
was only to be happy and to draw knowledge from a thousand sources. As
yet, it was not their time to do.
Sometimes, as Grandfather gazed at their fair, unworldly countenances, a
mist of tears bedimmed his spectacles. He almost regretted that it was
necessary for them to know anything of the past or to provide aught for
the future. He could have wished that they might be always the happy,
youthful creatures who had hitherto sported around his chair, without
inquiring whether it had a history. It grieved him to think that his
little Alice, who was a flower bud fresh from paradise, must open her
leaves to the rough breezes of the world, or ever open them in any
clime. So sweet a child she was, that it seemed fit her infancy should
be immortal.
But such repinings were merely flitting shadows across the old man's
heart. He had faith enough to believe, and wisdom enough to know, that
the bloom of the flower would be even holier and happier than its bud.
Even within himself, though Grandfather was now at that period of life
when the veil of mortality is apt to hang heavily over the soul, still,
in his inmost being he was conscious of something that he would not have
exchanged for the best happiness of childhood. It was a bliss to which
every sort of earthly experience--all that he had enjoyed, or suffered
or seen, or heard, or acted, with the broodings of his soul upon the
whole--had contributed somewhat. In the same manner must a bliss, of
which now they could have no conception, grow up within these children,
and form a part of their sustenance for immortality.
So Grandfather, with renewed cheerfulness, continued his history of the
chair, trusting that a profounder wisdom than his own would extract,
from these flowers and weeds of Time, a fragrance that might last beyond
all time.
At this period of the story Grandfather threw a glance backward as far
as the year 1660. He spoke of the ill-concealed reluctance with which
the Puritans in America had acknowledged the sway of Charles II. on his
restoration to his father's throne. When death had stricken Oliver
Cromwell, that mighty protector had no sincerer mourners than in New
England. The new king had been more than a year upon the throne before
his accession was proclaimed in Boston, although the neglect to perform
the ceremony might have subjected the rulers to the charge of treason.
During the reign of Charles II., however, the American colonies had but
little reason to complain of harsh or tyrannical treatment. But when
Charles died, in 1685, and was succeeded by his brother James, the
patriarchs of New England began to tremble. King James was known to be
of an arbitrary temper. It was feared by the Puritans that he would
assume despotic power. Our forefathers felt that they had no security
either for their religion or their liberties.
The result proved that they had reason for their apprehensions. King
James caused the charters of all the American colonies to be taken away.
The old charter of Massachusetts, which the people regarded as a holy
thing and as the foundation of all their liberties, was declared void.
The colonists were now no longer freemen; they were entirely dependent
on the king's pleasure. At first, in 1685, King James appointed Joseph
Dudley, a native of Massachusetts, to be president of New England. But
soon afterwards, Sir Edmund Andros, an officer of the English army,
arrived, with a commission to be governor-general of New England and New
York.
The king had given such powers to Sir Edmund Andros that there was now
no liberty, nor scarcely any law, in the colonies over which he ruled.
The inhabitants were not allowed to choose representatives, and
consequently had no voice whatever in the government, nor control over
the measures that were adopted. The councillors with whom the governor
consulted on matters of state were appointed by himself. This sort of
government was no better than an absolute despotism.
"The people suffered much wrong while Sir Edmund Andros ruled over
them," continued Grandfather; "and they were apprehensive of much more.
He had brought some soldiers with him from England, who took possession
of the old fortress on Castle Island and of the fortification on Fort
Hill. Sometimes it was rumored that a general massacre of the
inhabitants was to be perpetrated by these soldiers. There were reports,
too, that all the ministers were to be slain or imprisoned."
"For what?" inquired Charley.
"Because they were the leaders of the people, Charley," said
Grandfather. "A minister was a more formidable man than a general, in
those days. Well, while these things were going on in America, King
James had so misgoverned the people of England that they sent over to
Holland for the Prince of Orange. He had married the king's daughter,
and was therefore considered to have a claim to the crown. On his
arrival in England, the Prince of Orange was proclaimed king, by the
name of William III. Poor old King James made his escape to France."
Grandfather told how, at the first intelligence of the landing of the
Prince of Orange in England, the people of Massachusetts rose in their
strength and overthrew the government of Sir Edmund Andros. He, with
Joseph Dudley, Edmund Randolph, and his other principal adherents, was
thrown into prison. Old Simon Bradstreet, who had been governor when
King James took away the charter, was called by the people to govern
them again.
"Governor Bradstreet was a venerable old man, nearly ninety years of
age," said Grandfather. "He came over with the first settlers, and had
been the intimate companion of all those excellent and famous men who
laid the foundation of our country. They were all gone before him to the
grave, and Bradstreet was the last of the Puritans."
Grandfather paused a moment and smiled, as if he had something very
interesting to tell his auditors. He then proceeded:--
"And now, Laurence,--now, Clara,--now, Charley,--now, my dear little
Alice,--what chair do you think had been placed in the council chamber,
for old Governor Bradstreet to take his seat in? Would you believe that
it was this very chair in which Grandfather now sits, and of which he is
telling you the history?"
"I am glad to hear it, with all my heart!" cried Charley, after a shout
of delight. "I thought Grandfather had quite forgotten the chair."
"It was a solemn and affecting sight," said Grandfather, "when this
venerable patriarch, with his white beard flowing down upon his breast,
took his seat in his chair of state. Within his remembrance, and even
since his mature age, the site where now stood the populous town had
been a wild and forest-covered peninsula. The province, now so fertile
and spotted with thriving villages, had been a desert wilderness. He was
surrounded by a shouting multitude, most of whom had- been born in the
country which he had helped to found. They were of one generation, and
he of another. As the old man looked upon them, and beheld new faces
everywhere, he must have felt that it was now time for him to go whither
his brethren had gone before him."
"Were the former governors all dead and gone?" asked Laurence.
"All of them," replied Grandfather. "Winthrop had been dead forty years.
Endicott died, a very old man, in 1665. Sir Henry Vane was beheaded, in
London, at the beginning of the reign of Charles II. And Haynes, Dudley,
Bellingham, and Leverett, who had all been governors of Massachusetts,
were now likewise in their graves. Old Simon Bradstreet was the sole
representative of that departed brotherhood. There was no other public
man remaining to connect the ancient system of government and manners
with the new system which was about to take its place. The era of the
Puritans was now completed."
"I am sorry for it!" observed Laurence; "for though they were so stern,
yet it seems to me that there was something warm and real about them. I
think, Grandfather, that each of these old governors should have his
statue set up in our State House, Sculptured out of the hardest of New
England granite."
"It would not be amiss, Laurence," said Grandfather; "but perhaps clay,
or some other perishable material, might suffice for some of their
successors. But let us go back to our chair. It was occupied by Governor
Bradstreet from April, 1689, until May, 1692. Sir William Phips then
arrived in Boston with a new charter from King William and a commission
to be governor."
