True Stories from History and Biography

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Captain Phips and his men continued to fish up plate, bullion, and dollars, as plentifully as ever, till their provisions grew short. Then, as they could not feed upon gold and silver any more than old King Midas could, they found it necessary to go in search of better sustenance. Phips resolved to return to England. He arrived there in 1687, and was received with great joy by the Duke of Albemarle and the other English lords, who had fitted out the vessel. Well they might rejoice; for they took by far the greater part of the treasure to themselves.

  The Captain's share, however, was enough to make him comfortable for the rest of his days. It also enabled him to fulfil his promise to his wife, by building a "fair brick house," in the Green Lane of Boston. The Duke of Albemarle sent Mrs. Phips a magnificent gold cup, worth at least five thousand dollars. Before Captain Phips left London, King James made him a knight; so that, instead of the obscure ship-carpenter who had formerly dwelt among them, the inhabitants of Boston welcomed him on his return, as the rich and famous Sir William Phips.

  Chapter XI

  *

  "Sir William Phips," continued Grandfather, "was too active and adventurous a man to sit still in the quiet enjoyment of his good fortune. In the year 1690, he went on a military expedition against the French colonies in America, conquered the whole province of Acadie, and returned to Boston with a great deal of plunder."

  "Why, grandfather, he was the greatest man that ever sat in the chair!" cried Charley.

  "Ask Laurence what he thinks," replied Grandfather with a smile. "Well; in the same year, Sir William took command of an expedition against Quebec, but did not succeed in capturing the city. In 1692, being then in London, King William the Third appointed him governor of Massachusetts. And now, my dear children, having followed Sir William Phips through all his adventures and hardships, till we find him comfortably seated in Grandfather's chair, we will here bid him farewell. May he be as happy in ruling a people, as he was while he tended sheep!"

  Charley, whose fancy had been greatly taken by the adventurous disposition of Sir William Phips, was eager to know how he had acted, and what happened to him while he held the office of governor. But Grandfather had made up his mind to tell no more stories for the present.

  "Possibly, one of these days, I may go on with the adventures of the chair," said he. "But its history becomes very obscure just at this point; and I must search into some old books and manuscripts, before proceeding further. Besides, it is now a good time to pause in our narrative; because the new charter, which Sir William Phips brought over from England, formed a very important epoch in the history of the province."

  "Really, Grandfather," observed Laurence, "this seems to be the most remarkable chair in the world. Its history cannot be told without intertwining it with the lives of distinguished men, and the great events that have befallen the country."

  "True, Laurence," replied Grandfather, smiling, "We must write a book, with some such title as this,—MEMOIRS OF MY OWN TIMES, BY GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR."

  "That would be beautiful!" exclaimed Laurence, clapping his hands.

  "But, after all," continued Grandfather, "any other old chair, if it possessed memory, and a hand to write its recollections, could record stranger stories than any that I have told you. From generation to generation, a chair sits familiarly in the midst of human interests, and is witness to the most secret and confidential intercourse, that mortal man can hold with his fellow. The human heart may best be read in the fireside chair. And as to external events, Grief and Joy keep a continual vicissitude around it and within it. Now we see the glad face and glowing form of Joy, sitting merrily in the old chair, and throwing a warm fire-light radiance over all the household. Now, while we thought not of it, the dark clad mourner, Grief, has stolen into the place of Joy, but not to retain it long. The imagination can hardly grasp so wide a subject, as is embraced in the experience of a family chair."

  "It makes my breath flutter,—my heart thrill,—to think of it," said Laurence. "Yes; a family chair must have a deeper history than a Chair of State."

  "O, yes!" cried Clara, expressing a woman's feeling on the point in question, "The history of a country is not nearly so interesting as that of a single family would be."

  "But the history of a country is more easily told," said Grandfather. "So, if we proceed with our narrative of the chair, I shall still confine myself to its connection with public events."

  Good old Grandfather now rose and quitted the room, while the children remained gazing at the chair. Laurence, so vivid was his conception of past times, would hardly have deemed it strange, if its former occupants, one after another, had resumed the seat which they had each left vacant, such a dim length of years ago.

  First, the gentle and lovely lady Arbella would have been seen in the old chair, almost sinking out of its arms, for very weakness; then Roger Williams, in his cloak and band, earnest, energetic, and benevolent; then the figure of Anne Hutchinson, with the like gesture as when she presided at the assemblages of women; then the dark, intellectual face of Vane, "young in years, but in sage counsel old." Next would have appeared the successive governors, Winthrop, Dudley, Bellingham, and Endicott, who sat in the chair, while it was a Chair of State. Then its ample seat would have been pressed by the comfortable, rotund corporation of the honest mint-master. Then the half-frenzied shape of Mary Dyer, the persecuted Quaker woman, clad in sackcloth and ashes, would have rested in it for a moment. Then the holy apostolic form of Eliot would have sanctified it. Then would have arisen, like the shade of departed Puritanism, the venerable dignity of the white-bearded Governor Bradstreet. Lastly, on the gorgeous crimson cushion of Grandfather's chair, would have shone the purple and golden magnificence of Sir William Phips.

  But, all these, with the other historic personages, in the midst of whom the chair had so often stood, had passed, both in substance and shadow, from the scene of ages. Yet here stood the chair, with the old Lincoln coat of arms, and the oaken flowers and foliage, and the fierce lion's head at the summit, the whole, apparently, in as perfect preservation as when it had first been placed in the Earl of Lincoln's Hall. And what vast changes of society and of nations had been wrought by sudden convulsions or by slow degrees, since that era!

  "This chair has stood firm when the thrones of kings were overturned!" thought Laurence. "Its oaken frame has proved stronger than many frames of government!"

  More the thoughtful and imaginative boy might have mused; but now a large yellow cat, a great favorite with all the children, leaped in at the open window. Perceiving that Grandfather's chair was empty, and having often before experienced its comforts, puss laid herself quietly down upon the cushion. Laurence, Clara, Charley, and little Alice, all laughed at the idea of such a successor to the worthies of old times.

  "Pussy," said little Alice, putting out her hand, into which the cat laid a velvet paw, "you look very wise. Do tell us a story about GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR!"

  PART II

  *

  Chapter I

  *

  "O Grandfather," dear Grandfather, cried little Alice, "pray tell us some more stories about your chair!"

  How long a time had fled, since the children had felt any curiosity to hear the sequel of this venerable chair's adventures! Summer was now past and gone, and the better part of Autumn likewise. Dreary, chill November was howling, out of doors, and vexing the atmosphere with sudden showers of wintry rain, or sometimes with gusts of snow, that rattled like small pebbles against the windows.

  When the weather began to grow cool, Grandfather's chair had been removed from the summer parlor into a smaller and snugger room. It now stood by the side of a bright blazing wood-fire. Grandfather loved a wood-fire, far better than a grate of glowing anthracite, or than the dull heat of an invisible furnace, which seems to think that it has done its duty in merely warming the house. But the wood-fire is a kindly, cheerful, sociable spirit, sympathizing with mankind, and knowing that to create warmth is but one of the good
offices which are expected from it. Therefore it dances on the hearth, and laughs broadly through the room, and plays a thousand antics, and throws a joyous glow over all the faces that encircle it.

  In the twilight of the evening, the fire grew brighter and more cheerful. And thus, perhaps, there was something in Grandfather's heart, that cheered him most with its warmth and comfort in the gathering twilight of old age. He had been gazing at the red embers, as intently as if his past life were all pictured there, or as if it were a prospect of the future world, when little Alice's voice aroused him.

  "Dear Grandfather," repeated the little girl, more earnestly, "do talk to us again about your chair."

  Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, and little Alice, had been attracted to other objects, for two or three months past. They had sported in the gladsome sunshine of the present, and so had forgotten the shadowy region of the past, in the midst of which stood Grandfather's chair. But now, in the autumnal twilight, illuminated by the flickering blaze of the wood-fire, they looked at the old chair and thought that it had never before worn such an interesting aspect. There it stood, in the venerable majesty of more than two hundred years. The light from the hearth quivered upon the flowers and foliage, that were wrought into its oaken back; and the lion's head at the summit seemed almost to move its jaws and shake its mane.

  "Does little Alice speak for all of you?" asked Grandfather. "Do you wish me to go on with the adventures of the chair?"

  "Oh, yes, yes, Grandfather!" cried Clara. "The dear old chair! How strange that we should have forgotten it so long!"

  "Oh, pray begin, Grandfather," said Laurence; "for I think, when we talk about old times, it should be in the early evening before the candles are lighted. The shapes of the famous persons, who once sat in the chair, will be more apt to come back, and be seen among us, in this glimmer and pleasant gloom, than they would in the vulgar daylight. And, besides, we can make pictures of all that you tell us, among the glowing embers and white ashes."

  Our friend Charley, too, thought the evening the best time to hear Grandfather's stories, because he could not then be playing out of doors. So, finding his young auditors unanimous in their petition, the good old gentleman took up the narrative of the historic chair, at the point where he had dropt it.

  Chapter II

  *

  "You recollect, my dear children," said Grandfather, "that we took leave of the chair in 1692, while it was occupied by Sir William Phips. This fortunate treasure-seeker, you will remember, had come over from England, with King William's commission to be Governor of Massachusetts. Within the limits of this province were now included the old colony of Plymouth, and the territories of Maine and Nova Scotia. Sir William Phips had likewise brought a new charter from the king, which served instead of a constitution, and set forth the method in which the province was to be governed."

  "Did the new charter allow the people all their former liberties?" inquired Laurence.

  "No," replied Grandfather. "Under the first charter, the people had been the source of all power. Winthrop, Endicott, Bradstreet, and the rest of them, had been governors by the choice of the people, without any interference of the king. But henceforth the governor was to hold his station solely by the king's appointment, and during his pleasure; and the same was the case with the lieutenant-governor, and some other high officers. The people, however, were still allowed to choose representatives; and the governor's council was chosen by the general court."

  "Would the inhabitants have elected Sir William Phips," asked Laurence, "if the choice of governor had been left to them?"

  "He might probably have been a successful candidate," answered Grandfather; "for his adventures and military enterprises had gained him a sort of renown, which always goes a great way with the people. And he had many popular characteristics, being a kind, warm-hearted man, not ashamed of his low origin, nor haughty in his present elevation. Soon after his arrival, he proved that he did not blush to recognize his former associates."

  "How was that?" inquired Charley.

  "He made a grand festival at his new brick house," said Grandfather, "and invited all the ship-carpenters of Boston to be his guests. At the head of the table, in our great chair, sat Sir William Phips himself, treating these hard handed men as his brethren, cracking jokes with them, and talking familiarly about old times. I know not whether he wore his embroidered dress, but I rather choose to imagine that he had on a suit of rough clothes, such as he used to labor in, while he was Phips the ship-carpenter."

  "An aristocrat need not be ashamed of the trade," observed Laurence; "for the czar Peter the Great once served an apprenticeship to it."

  "Did Sir William Phips make as good a governor as he was a ship-carpenter?" asked Charley.

  "History says but little about his merits as a ship-carpenter," answered Grandfather; "but, as a governor, a great deal of fault was found with him. Almost as soon as he assumed the government, he became engaged in a very frightful business, which might have perplexed a wiser and better cultivated head than his. This was the witchcraft delusion."

  And here Grandfather gave his auditors such details of this melancholy affair, as he thought it fit for them to know. They shuddered to hear that a frenzy, which led to the death of many innocent persons, had originated in the wicked arts of a few children. They belonged to the Rev. Mr. Parris, minister of Salem. These children complained of being pinched, and pricked with pins, and otherwise tormented by the shapes of men and women, who were supposed to have power to haunt them invisibly, both in darkness and daylight. Often, in the midst of their family and friends, the children would pretend to be seized with strange convulsions, and would cry out that the witches were afflicting them.

  These stories spread abroad, and caused great tumult and alarm. From the foundation of New England, it had been the custom of the inhabitants, in all matters of doubt and difficulty, to look to their ministers for council. So they did now; but, unfortunately, the ministers and wise men were more deluded than the illiterate people. Cotton Mather, a very learned and eminent clergyman, believed that the whole country was full of witches and wizards, who had given up their hopes of heaven, and signed a covenant with the Evil One.

  Nobody could be certain that his nearest neighbor, or most intimate friend, was not guilty of this imaginary crime. The number of those who pretended to be afflicted by witchcraft, grew daily more numerous; and they bore testimony against many of the best and worthiest people. A minister, named George Burroughs, was among the accused. In the months of August and September, 1692, he, and nineteen other innocent men and women, were put to death. The place of execution was a high hill, on the outskirts of Salem; so that many of the sufferers, as they stood beneath the gallows, could discern their own habitations in the town.

  The martyrdom of these guiltless persons seemed only to increase the madness. The afflicted now grew bolder in their accusations. Many people of rank and wealth were either thrown into prison, or compelled to flee for their lives. Among these were two sons of old Simon Bradstreet, the last of the Puritan governors. Mr. Willard, a pious minister of Boston, was cried out upon as a wizard, in open court. Mrs. Hale, the wife of the minister of Beverly, was likewise accused. Philip English, a rich merchant of Salem, found it necessary to take flight, leaving his property and business in confusion. But a short time afterwards, the Salem people were glad to invite him back.

  "The boldest thing that the accusers did," continued Grandfather, "was to cry out against the governor's own beloved wife. Yes; the lady of Sir William Phips was accused of being a witch, and of flying through the air to attend witch meetings. When the governor heard this, he probably trembled, so that our great chair shook beneath him."

  "Dear Grandfather," cried little Alice, clinging closer to his knee, "is it true that witches ever come in the night-time to frighten little children?"

  "No, no, dear little Alice," replied Grandfather. "Even if there were any witches, they would flee away from the pr
esence of a pure-hearted child. But there are none; and our forefathers soon became convinced, that they had been led into a terrible delusion. All the prisoners on account of witchcraft were set free. But the innocent dead could not be restored to life; and the hill where they were executed, will always remind people of the saddest and most humiliating passage in our history."

  Grandfather then said, that the next remarkable event, while Sir William Phips remained in the chair, was the arrival at Boston of an English fleet, in 1693. It brought an army, which was intended for the conquest of Canada. But a malignant disease, more fatal than the small-pox, broke out among the soldiers and sailors, and destroyed the greater part of them. The infection spread into the town of Boston, and made much havoc there. This dreadful sickness caused the governor, and Sir Francis Wheeler, who was commander of the British forces, to give up all thoughts of attacking Canada.

  "Soon after this," said Grandfather, "Sir William Phips quarrelled with the captain of an English frigate, and also with the Collector of Boston. Being a man of violent temper, he gave each of them a sound beating with his cane."

  "He was a bold fellow," observed Charley, who was himself somewhat addicted to a similar mode of settling disputes.

  "More bold than wise," replied Grandfather; "for complaints were carried to the king, and Sir William Phips was summoned to England, to make the best answer he could. Accordingly he went to London, where, in 1695, he was seized with a malignant fever, of which he died. Had he lived longer, he would probably have gone again in search of sunken treasure. He had heard of a Spanish ship, which was cast away in 1502, during the lifetime of Columbus. Bovadilla, Roldan, and many other Spaniards, were lost in her, together with the immense wealth of which they had robbed the South American kings."