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Title: The Beginnings of America, 1607-1763 - Voices from America’s Past
Author: Woodress, James Leslie, Morris, Richard B. (Richard Brandon)
Language: English
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1607-1763 ***
VOICES FROM AMERICA’S PAST
THE BEGINNINGS OF AMERICA
1607-1763
Edited by
Richard B. Morris
Gouverneur Morris Professor of History
Columbia University
New York, New York
James Woodress
Chairman, Department of English
San Fernando Valley State College
Northridge, California
WEBSTER PUBLISHING COMPANY
ST. LOUIS ATLANTA DALLAS PASADENA
VOICES FROM AMERICA’S PAST
_The Beginnings of America 1607-1763_
_The Times That Tried Men’s Souls 1770-1783_
_The Age of Washington 1783-1801_
_The Jeffersonians 1801-1829_
_Jacksonian Democracy 1829-1848_
_The Westward Movement 1832-1889_
_A House Divided: The Civil War 1850-1865_
(_Other titles in preparation_)
Copyright ©, 1961, by Webster Publishing Company
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Preface v
I Settlements North and South
The Founding of Jamestown 1
William Simmonds Describes the Settlers’ Problems 2
John Smith’s Adventures 4
The Founding of Plymouth 9
William Bradford’s History Of _Plymouth Plantation_ 9
John Winthrop, Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony 17
Cotton Mather Describes John Winthrop 18
John Winthrop’s Letters to His Wife 19
II Religious Life in America
New England 22
Edward Taylor’s Poems 23
The Salem Witch Trials 25
Samuel Sewall’s Confession of Error 30
The Great Awakening: Jonathan Edwards 30
Other Colonies 33
John Woolman’s Journal 33
III Colonial Problems
Indian Troubles 37
Mrs. Rowlandson’s Captivity 38
Conflict with France 42
George Washington’s Letter on Braddock’s Defeat 42
Benjamin Franklin’s Comments on Braddock 44
IV Colonial Life
Transportation 46
Sarah Kemble Knight Journeys to Connecticut 46
Life in the South 49
William Byrd, a Virginia Gentleman 49
William Byrd Sees North Carolina 50
William Byrd Visits Colonel Spotswood 52
Life in a City 52
From Benjamin Franklin’s _Autobiography_ 53
The excerpt from _Of Plymouth Plantation_, by William Bradford, edited
by Samuel Eliot Morison, which begins on page 11, was reprinted by
permission of Alfred Knopf, Inc., 1952.
The poems by Edward Taylor, “Housewifery” and “The Joy of Church
Fellowship Rightly Attended,” which begin on page 23, were reprinted by
permission of the _New England Quarterly_, December, 1937.
The picture on page 1, of Pocahontas saving the life of Captain John
Smith, and the picture on page 22, “The Witch,” were reprinted through
the courtesy of the Library of Congress. The picture on the cover and
the picture on page 37, of a colonial woman captured by Indians, were
reprinted through the courtesy of the National Life Insurance Company of
Montpelier, Vermont. The picture of Benjamin Franklin shown on page 46
was reprinted through the courtesy of the John Hancock Mutual Life
Insurance Company of Boston, Massachusetts.
Preface
The seventeenth century in America was the seedtime of colonization. For
115 years after Columbus discovered America, explorers sailed the
western waters, and the nations of Europe staked out vast empires.
England launched several successful attempts to plant colonies in what
is now the United States. In the years following the landing at
Jamestown in 1607, England laid the foundation for her extensive
colonial system in North America. From these scattered colonies a nation
grew, but a long time passed before the colonies became states and the
states became a nation.
The English colonization of North America did not suffer for want of
reporters to describe it. The people who took part in the enterprise
wrote a great deal about their experiences. Governor Bradford of
Plymouth wrote a history to preserve a record of the colony’s early
days. Captain John Smith of Virginia wrote pamphlets to satisfy the
curiosity of folks back home who might want to come to the New World.
Many of these works were printed immediately; others remained in
manuscript until our day.
Not only the leaders of the colonies wrote of their deeds. Ordinary
people also sent letters home to England and kept diaries for their
personal satisfaction. All in all, the United States had her beginnings
amid ample publicity. We are grateful to these people for preserving
records of the early days, for through their efforts we can get a
first-hand idea of colonial times. We don’t have to guess about the
events that took place in America three hundred years ago. Of course, we
don’t have nearly as many documents as we could wish for, but we do have
plenty of records to draw upon.
This is the first of a series of booklets containing the story of
America, as told by those who were there, the eyewitnesses and
participants. The selections which make up this booklet are a few of the
records that historians use in writing their books. These diaries,
letters, biographies, and narratives are the raw material of history.
These accounts bring us face to face with the Indians of Virginia in
1607, make us feel something of the sufferings of the Pilgrims in
Massachusetts during their “starving time,” tell us about the deep
religious beliefs of the colonists, and the superstitions, like
witchcraft, which were hard to root out. We see life through the eyes of
a prosperous planter in Virginia and a struggling printer’s apprentice
in Philadelphia. History books can provide over-all pictures of a
country’s development, but these eyewitness accounts and first-hand
reports put flesh on the bare bones of history.
In editing this booklet, we have let the authors tell their own story in
their own words, but we have sometimes modernized the spelling and
punctuation and—when it seemed absolutely necessary—words and sentence
structure. Our aim has been to turn the language of these old documents
into English modern enough that what the writers have to say is not
obscured by the way they said it. Occasionally we have made cuts within
selections to save space, but, for the most part, the material used is
complete.
Richard B. Morris
James Woodress
Settlements North and South
[Illustration: Pocahontas saving the life of Captain John Smith]
The Founding of Jamestown
The first permanent English settlement in America was founded at
Jamestown, Virginia, in May, 1607. The colonists who went ashore that
spring morning more than three and one-half centuries ago discovered no
cultivated countryside. Instead of the trim, green farms one sees along
the James River today, they found a howling wilderness full of hostile
Indians and wild beasts. Neither the colonists nor their
merchant-sponsors in England were prepared for the troubles that
Jamestown faced. The settlers died of disease, starvation, and Indian
attacks, and they quarreled endlessly among themselves. The stockholders
in the Virginia Company never made any money on their investment in the
colony.
The Jamestown settlers sailed from England in three ships on December
19, 1606. Captain Christopher Newport was in charge of getting the
colonists to Virginia. The ships stopped in the Canary Islands and the
West Indies before reaching their destination. It was a long, exhausting
voyage. Several weeks after landing at Jamestown, Captain Newport
returned to England. The settlers then were on their own.
William Simmonds Describes the Settlers’ Problems
The following account of the early days at Jamestown was compiled in
London by William Simmonds. It is based on the writings, freely adapted,
of several of the colonists who were his friends. As you can see,
Simmonds’ friends had no use for Edward Wingfield, the first president
of the colony. They were supporters of Captain John Smith, whose own
writings begin after this narrative.
Being thus left to our fortunes, within ten days, scarce ten amongst
us could either go or well stand, such extreme weakness and sickness
oppressed us. And thereat none need marvel, if they consider the cause
and reason, which was this: whilst the ships stayed, our allowance of
food was somewhat bettered by a daily portion of biscuit which the
sailors would pilfer [_steal_] to sell, give, or exchange with us, for
money, sassafras, [_or_] furs.... But when they departed, there
remained neither tavern, beer house, nor place of relief but the
common kettle.
Had we been as free from all sins as we were free from gluttony and
drunkenness, we might have been canonized for saints. But our
president would never have been admitted, for he kept for his private
use oatmeal, sack [_wine_], oil, aqua vitae [_brandy_], beef, eggs, or
what not. [_President Wingfield hotly denied this charge_.] The
[_contents of the common_] kettle indeed he allowed equally to be
distributed, and that was half a pint of wheat and as much barley
boiled with water for a man a day. This [_grain_] having fried some 26
weeks in the ship’s hold contained as many worms as grains, so that we
might truly call it rather so much bran than corn.
Our drink was water, our lodging, castles in the air. With this
lodging and diet our extreme toil in bearing and planting palisades
strained and bruised us. Our continual labor in the extremity of the
heat had so weakened us as were cause sufficient to have made us
miserable in our native country, or any other place in the world. From
May to September those that escaped dying lived upon sturgeon and sea
crabs. Fifty in this time we buried. [_The original colony numbered
104._]
Then seeing the President’s projects (who all this time had neither
felt want nor sickness) to escape these miseries by flight in our
pinnace [_small sailing boat_] so moved our dead spirits that we
deposed [_removed_] him and established [_John_] Ratcliffe in his
place.... But now was all our provision spent, the sturgeon gone, all
helps abandoned, each hour expecting the fury of the savages, when
God, the patron of all good endeavors, in that desperate extremity, so
changed the hearts of the savages that they brought such plenty of
their fruits and provision that no man wanted.
And now where some affirmed it was ill done of the Council to send
forth men so badly provided, this incontradictable reason will show
them plainly they are too ill-advised to nourish such ideas. First,
the fault of our going was our own. What could be thought fitting or
necessary we had; but what we should find, what we should want, where
we should be, we were all ignorant. And supposing to make our passage
in two months with victual [_food_] to live and the advantage of
spring to work, we were at sea five months where we spent both our
victual and lost the opportunity of the time and season to plant.
Such actions have ever since the world’s beginning been subject to
such accidents. Everything of worth is found full of difficulties, but
nothing [_is_] so difficult as to establish a commonwealth so far
remote from men and means and where men’s minds are so untoward
[_unlucky_] as neither [_to_] do well themselves nor to suffer others
[_to do well_]. But to proceed.
The new president, being little beloved, of weak judgment in dangers
and less industry in peace, committed the managing of all things
abroad to Captain Smith, who, by his own example, good words, and fair
promises set some to mow, others to bind thatch, some to build houses,
others to thatch them, himself always bearing the greatest task for
his own share. In short time he provided most of them lodgings,
neglecting any for himself.
This done, seeing the savages’ superfluity [_large numbers_] begin to
decrease, [_he_] with some of his workmen shipped himself in the
shallop [_small boat_] to search the country for trade.... He went
down the river to Kecoughtan [_an Indian village_] where at first they
scorned him as a starved man, yet he so dealt with them that the next
day they loaded his boat with corn. And in his return he discovered
and kindly traded with the Warascoyks....
And now the winter approaching, the rivers became so covered with
swans, geese, ducks, and cranes that we daily feasted with good bread,
Virginia peas, pumpkins, and persimmons, fish, fowl, and diverse sorts
of wild beasts, ... so that none of our Tuftaffaty [_silk-dressed_]
humorists desired to go for England.
John Smith 1580-1631
Captain John Smith already had lived an exciting life by the time he
joined the Virginia-bound colonists at the age of 26. He had left
England at 16 to become a soldier of fortune on the continent of Europe.
He fought with the Austrians against the Turks, and once in single
combat he cut off the heads of three Turkish champions. A Transylvanian
prince rewarded him with a coat of arms for his deeds. Later he was
captured and given as a present to the wife of a Turkish pasha, but he
escaped and made his way back to England.
Smith’s adventures are so fantastic that many historians have called him
a liar and refused to believe him. Yet recent historical research shows
that Smith’s stories are reasonably accurate. He may have exaggerated
his adventures to make a good story a little better, but it is probably
true that Smith saved the Jamestown colony by his resourceful foraging
among the Indians and by his bold leadership. Certainly he was an
energetic and able man. For a fascinating account of Smith’s career, as
verified by an expert in Hungarian history, see Marshall Fishwick, “Was
John Smith a Liar?” _American Heritage_, IX, 29-33, 110 (October, 1958).
Smith returned to England in 1609 and never again saw Virginia, but he
wrote much about the colony. One of his most interesting works is a
pamphlet called _A Map of Virginia_. In it he put together a vivid
eyewitness account of the animals, the plants, and the Indians. Smith’s
booklet was designed to satisfy the great curiosity in England about the
New World and to urge new settlers to go there. He does not mention the
hardships.
THE INDIANS
The people differ very much in stature, ... some being very great, ...
others very little, ... but generally tall and straight, of a comely
[_pretty_] proportion and of a color brown, when they are of any age,
but they are borne white. Their hair is generally black, but few have
any beards. The men wear half their heads shaven, the other half long.
For barbers they use their women, who with two shells will grate the
hair, of any fashion they please....
They are very strong, of an able body and full of agility, able to
endure, to lie in the woods under a tree by the fire in the worst of
winter or in the weeds and grass in ambush in the summer. They are
inconstant [_changeable_] in everything but what fear constrains them
to keep.... Some are of disposition fearful, some bold, most
cautelous [_deceitful_], all savage. Generally [_they are_] covetous
of copper, beads, and such like trash. They are soon moved to anger
and so malicious that they seldom forget an injury....
For their apparel they are sometimes covered with skins of wild
beasts, which in winter are dressed with the hair but in summer
without. The better sort use large mantles of deerskin, ... some
embroidered with white beads, some with copper, others painted after
their manner. But the common sort have scarce to cover their nakedness
but with grass, the leaves of trees, or such like. We have seen some
use mantles made of turkey feathers so prettily wrought and woven with
threads that nothing could be discerned [_seen_] but the feathers,
that was exceedingly warm and very handsome. But the women are always
covered about their middles with a skin and very shamefast to be seen
bare....
Their women some have their legs, hands, breasts, and face cunningly
embroidered with diverse works, as beasts, serpents, artificially
wrought into their flesh with black spots. In each ear commonly they
have three great holes, whereat they hang chains, bracelets, or
copper. Some of their men wear in those holes a small green and yellow
colored snake, near half a yard in length, which crawling and lapping
herself about his neck often times familiarly would kiss his lips.
Others wear a dead rat tied by the tail. Some on their heads wear the
wing of a bird or some large feather with a rattle.... Their heads
and shoulders are painted red with the root _pocone_ powdered and
mixed with oil; this they hold in summer to preserve them from the
heat and in winter from the cold. Many other forms of paintings they
use, but he is the most gallant that is the most monstrous to
behold....
Men, women, and children have their several names according to the
several humors of their parents. Their women (they say) are easily
delivered of child, yet do they love children very dearly. To make
them hardy, in the coldest mornings they wash them in the rivers and
by painting and ointments so tan their skins that after a year or two
no weather will hurt them.
The men bestow their time in fishing, hunting, wars, and such man-like
exercises, ... which is the cause that the women be very painful
[_busy_] and the men often idle. The women and children do the rest of
the work. They make mats, baskets, pots, pound their corn, make their
bread, prepare their victuals, plant their corn, gather their corn,
bear all kinds of burdens, and such like.
Their fire they kindle presently by chafing a dry pointed stick in a
hole of a little square piece of wood, that firing itself will so fire
moss, leaves, or any such like dry thing that will quickly burn.
THEIR RELIGION
There is yet in Virginia no place discovered to be so savage in which
the savages have not a religion, deer, and bow and arrows. All things
that were able to do them hurt beyond their prevention they adore with
their kind of divine worship, as the fire, water, lightning, thunder,
our ordnance [_guns_], horses, etc. But their chief god they worship
is the devil. Him they call _Oke_ and serve him more of fear than
love. They say they have conference with him and fashion themselves as
near to his shape as they can imagine. In their temples, they have his
image evil favoredly carved and then painted and adorned with chains,
copper, and beads, and covered with a skin....
By him is commonly the sepulchre [_tomb_] of their kings. Their bodies
are first bowelled [_that is, disembowelled or the internal organs
removed_], then dried upon hurdles [_racks_] till they be very dry,
and so about the most of their joints and neck they hang bracelets or
chains of copper, pearl, and such like, as they used to wear. Their
inwards they stuff with copper beads and cover with a skin, hatchets,
and such trash. Then they lappe [_wrap_] them very carefully in white
skins and so roll them in mats for their winding sheets. And in the
tomb, which is an arch made of mats, they lay them orderly. What
remaineth of this kind of wealth their kings have, they set at their
feet in baskets. These temples and bodies are kept by their priests.
For their ordinary burials they dig a deep hole in the earth with
sharp stakes, and the corpses being lapped in skins and mats with
their jewels, they lay them upon sticks in the ground and so cover
them with earth. The burial ended, the women being painted all their
faces with black coal and oil do sit 24 hours in the houses mourning
and lamenting by turns with such yelling and howling as may express
their great passions.
John Smith’s most famous story is the account of his rescue by
Pocahontas, but many historians have doubted the tale. Smith is the only
person who says it happened. The facts are these: During the first hard
winter, 1607-1608, when Smith was scouting for provisions, he was
captured by the Indians and taken to the chief, Powhatan, father of
Pocahontas. After three weeks the chief sent him back to Jamestown. When
Smith first wrote about his experiences a few months later, he never
mentioned Pocahontas.
Years later, in England, Smith wrote a history of Virginia and, for the
first time, told the story of Pocahontas. Between the time Smith was
captured and the time he wrote his history, Pocahontas had married an
Englishman. Her husband had brought her to England, where she had been a
sensation. One cannot help feeling that Smith “remembered” more than
actually happened in order to exploit public interest in the Indian
princess. His account, however, is a good story, even if it happened
only in his mind. Pocahontas was a real person who visited Jamestown
often and brought food to the starving settlers during their worst
times. Many Americans like to think the episode is true, and the tale
has become part of our folklore, like the legendary deeds of Davy
Crockett. Here is Smith’s story:
At last they brought him [_note that here Smith writes of himself in
the third person_] to Meronocomoco where was Powhatan, their emperor.
Here more than two hundred of those grim courtiers stood wondering at
him, as he had been a monster.... Before a fire upon a seat like a
bedstead he sat covered with a great robe made of raccoon skins and
all the tails hanging by. On either hand did sit a young wench of 16
or 18 years, and along on each side [_of_] the house two rows of men,
and behind them as many women, with all their heads and shoulders
painted red. Many of their heads [_were_] bedecked with the white down
of birds; but everyone with something, and a great chain of white
beads about their necks.
At his entrance before the king, all the people gave a great shout.
The Queen of Appamatuck was appointed to bring him water to wash his
hands, and another brought him a bunch of feathers instead of a towel
to dry them. Having feasted him after their best barbarous manner they
could, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was [_that_]
two great stones were brought before Powhatan. Then as many as could,
laid hands on him, dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and
being ready with their clubs to beat out his brains, Pocahontas, the
king’s dearest daughter, when no entreaty could prevail, got his head
in her arms and laid her own upon his to save him from death; whereat
the emperor was contented he should live to make him hatchets, and her
bells, beads, and copper; for they thought him as well [_capable_] of
all occupations as themselves. For the king himself will make his own
robes, shoes, bows, arrows, pots; plant, hunt, or do anything so well
as the rest....
Two days after, Powhatan having disguised himself in the most
fearfullest manner he could, caused Captain Smith to be brought forth
to a great house in the woods, and there upon a mat by the fire to be
left alone. Not long after from behind a mat that divided the house
was made the most dolefullest noise he ever heard. Then Powhatan, more
like a devil than a man, with some two hundred more as black as
himself, came unto him and told him now they were friends and
presently he should go to Jamestown.... So to Jamestown with 12 guides
Powhatan sent him.
In another place in the history, Smith prints a letter he wrote to the
Queen of England at the time Pocahontas visited London. In this letter
he tells more about the Indian girl and describes her as a sort of
guardian angel for the colony:
[_Pocahontas_] so prevailed with her father that I was safely
conducted to Jamestown, where I found about eight and thirty miserable
poor and sick creatures to keep possession of all those large
territories of Virginia; such was the weakness of this poor
commonwealth. Had the savages not fed us, we directly had starved. And
this relief, most gracious Queen, was commonly brought us by this Lady
Pocahontas.
Notwithstanding all these passages, when inconstant fortune turned our
peace to war, this tender virgin would still not spare to dare to
visit us, and by her our jars [_distresses_] have been oft appeased
and our wants still supplied. Were it the policy of her father thus to
employ her or the ordinance of God thus to make her His instrument, or
her extraordinary affection to our nation, I know not, but of this I
am sure; when her father with the utmost of his policy and power
sought to surprise me, having but 18 with me, the dark night could not
affright her from coming through the irksome woods; and with watered
eyes [_she_] gave me intelligence with her best advice to escape his
fury, which had he known he had surely slain her.
Jamestown with her wild train she as freely frequented as her father’s
habitation, and during the time of two or three years she next under
God was still the instrument to preserve this colony from death,
famine, and utter confusion.
The Founding of Plymouth
William Bradford
William Bradford (1590-1657) was the wise and able governor of the
Plymouth colony for thirty years. During this time he wrote the best
account we have of our colonial beginnings. His narrative, Of Plymouth
Plantation, as he called his work, is a great adventure story. The
account of the little band of Pilgrims who came to Massachusetts in 1620
is filled with hardships, suffering, courage, and faith. The Pilgrims
faced problems hard to solve, for they landed on the bleak coast of New
England at the beginning of the winter. They were three thousand miles
from home, friends, and civilization, but they worked, prayed, and
survived. The leadership of William Bradford is one of the reasons that
the Plymouth settlers were able to survive on the rocky shores of
Massachusetts.
Governor Bradford began his history of the colony soon after the landing
and worked on it, from time to time, for many years. The precious
manuscript was not published, but was kept in the family. Early
historians used it, and at the time of the Revolution it was kept in the
library of the Old South Church in Boston. During the war the manuscript
was stolen, probably by a British soldier, and was lost for years. In
the middle of the nineteenth century, however, it was found in the
library of the Bishop of London. Various Americans tried to persuade the
British to return the historic document to America. Finally the American
ambassador succeeded in bringing the manuscript home in 1897, and it now
is the property of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
If the manuscript were printed just as it was written, it would look
very strange. Bradford did not prepare it for publication, and thus used
many abbreviations and strange contractions. Also, the English language
has changed since the history was written. The following selections have
been pruned somewhat and words have been spelled out, but the governor’s
old-fashioned language is still not easy to read. Be patient and you
will understand it. It is a story of simple faith and courage.
The first part of the history describes the experiences of the Pilgrims
before they came to America. Because they disapproved of the Church of
England, they separated themselves from it. Hence the Pilgrims also are
known as Separatists. They first went to Holland, where they were able
to worship as they pleased. But that country was small and
overpopulated. They found it difficult to make a living there. Also,
they feared their children would grow up more Dutch than English.
Therefore they decided, after much discussion, to leave Europe for
America. It was a hard decision, and some of the Pilgrims were terrified
at the prospect.
Some were afraid of the long sea voyage; others were afraid they would
starve to death. They worried about the change of air, diet, and
drinking water. They were fearful of the Indians and intimidated by the
stories they had heard. The Indians were said to be cruel, barbarous,
treacherous—even cannibal. But men like Bradford argued that “all great
and honorable actions were accompanied with great difficulties.” It was
granted that the difficulties were great and the dangers numerous. But
with the aid of God and courage and patience they would overcome the
obstacles. The brave ones persuaded most of the rest to go.
Thus they hired the Mayflower, a ship only ninety feet long, and left
Europe on September 6, 1620. For more than nine weeks they sailed
westward. At first they had fair winds, but then the autumn storms
caught them and the ship began to leak. Many of the crew wanted to turn
back, but emergency repairs were made, and Governor Bradford says: “They
committed themselves to the will of God and resolved to proceed.” Then
he continues:
After long beating at sea they fell with that land which is called
Cape Cod; the which being made and certainly known to be it, they were
not a little joyful. After some deliberation had amongst themselves
and with the master of the ship, they tacked about and resolved to
stand for the southward (the wind and weather being fair) to find some
place about Hudson’s River for their habitation. But after they had
sailed that course about half the day, they fell amongst dangerous
shoals and roaring breakers, and they were so far entangled therewith
as they conceived themselves in great danger; and the wind shrinking
upon them withal, they resolved to bear up again for the Cape, and
thought themselves happy to get out of those dangers before night
overtook them, as by God’s good providence they did.
Being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land, they
fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven, who had brought
them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the
perils and miseries thereof, again to set their feet on the firm and
stable earth....
But here I cannot but stay and make a pause, and stand half amazed at
this poor people’s present condition; and so I think will the reader,
too, when he well considers the same. Being thus passed the vast
ocean, and a sea of troubles before in their preparation, they had now
no friends to welcome them nor inns to entertain or refresh their
weatherbeaten bodies; no houses or much less towns to repair to, to
seek for succour [_help_]. It is recorded in Scripture as a mercy to
the Apostle and his shipwrecked company that the barbarians showed
them no small kindness in refreshing them, but these savage
barbarians, when they met with them were readier to fill their sides
full of arrows than otherwise. And for the season it was winter, and
they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and
violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms, dangerous to travel
to known places, much more to search an unknown coast.
Besides, what could they see but a hideous and desolate wilderness,
full of wild beasts and wild men—and what multitudes there might be of
them they knew not. Neither could they, as it were, go up to the top
of Pisgah [_the mountain that Moses climbed to see the Promised Land_]
to view from this wilderness a more goodly country to feed their
hopes; for which way soever they turned their eyes (save upward to the
heavens) they could have little solace or content in respect of any
outward objects. For summer being done, all things stand upon them
with a weather-beaten face, and the whole country, full of woods and
thickets, represented a wild and savage hue. If they looked behind
them, there was the mighty ocean which they had passed and was now as
a main bar and gulf to separate them from all the civil parts of the
world....
What could now sustain them but the Spirit of God and His grace? May
not and ought not the children of these fathers rightly say: “Our
fathers were Englishmen which came over this great ocean, and were
ready to perish in this wilderness; but they cried unto the Lord, and
He heard their voice and looked on their adversity,” etc. “Let them
therefore praise the Lord, because He is good; and His mercies endure
forever. Yea, let them which have been redeemed of the Lord, show how
He hath delivered them from the hand of the oppressor. When they
wandered in the desert wilderness out of the way, and found no city to
dwell in, both hungry and thirsty, their soul was overwhelmed in them.
Let them confess before the Lord His loving kindness and His wonderful
works before the sons of men.”
For the next three weeks the Pilgrims explored Cape Cod, looking for a
suitable place to land and build their homes. They found Plymouth Bay
and sailed the Mayflower into it on December 16. On Christmas Day, 1620,
they began to erect the first house. But during their explorations they
were attacked by the Indians. This was on December 6:
So they [_the exploring party_] ranged up and down all that day, but
found no people, nor any place they liked. When the sun grew low, they
hasted out of the woods to meet with their shallop [_small boat_], to
whom they made signs to come to them into a creek hard by, which they
did at high water; of which they were very glad, for they had not seen
each other all that day since the morning. So they made them a
barricade as usually they did every night, with logs, stakes and thick
pine boughs, the height of a man, leaving it open to leeward, partly
to shelter them from the cold and wind (making their fire in the
middle and lying round about it) and partly to defend them from any
sudden assaults of the savages, if they should surround them; so being
very weary, they betook them to rest. But about midnight they heard a
hideous and great cry, and their sentinel called, “Arm! arm!” So they
bestirred them and stood to their arms and shot off a couple of
muskets, and then the noise ceased....
So they rested till about five of the clock in the morning; for the
tide, and their purpose to go from thence, made them be stirring
betimes [_early_]. So after prayer they prepared for breakfast, and it
being day dawning, it was thought best to be carrying things down to
the boat. But some said it was not best to carry the arms down; others
said they would be the readier, for they had lapped [_wrapped_] them
up in their coats [_as protection_] from the dew; but some three or
four would not carry theirs till they went themselves. Yet as it fell
out, the water being not high enough, they laid them down on the bank
side and came up to breakfast.
But presently, all on the sudden, they heard a great and strange cry,
which they knew to be the same voices they heard in the night, though
they varied their notes; and one of their company being abroad came
running in and cried, “Men, Indians! Indians!” And withal, their
arrows came flying amongst them. Their men ran with all speed to
recover their arms, as by the good providence of God they did. In the
meantime, of those that were there ready, two muskets were discharged
at them, and two more stood ready in the entrance of their rendezvous
but were commanded not to shoot till they could take full aim at them.
And the other two charged again with all speed, for there were only
four [_who_] had arms there, and defended the barricade, which was
first assaulted.
The cry of the Indians was dreadful, especially when they saw there
men run out of the rendezvous toward the shallop to recover their
arms, the Indians wheeling about upon them. But some running out with
coats of mail on, and cutlasses in their hands, they soon got their
arms and let fly amongst them and quickly stopped their violence. Yet
there was a lusty man, and no less valiant, [_who_] stood behind a
tree within half a musket shot, and let his arrows fly at them; he was
seen [_to_] shoot three arrows, which were all avoided. He stood three
shots of a musket, till one taking full aim at him made the bark or
splinters of the tree fly about his ears, after which he gave an
extraordinary shriek and away they went, all of them....
Thus it pleased God to vanquish their enemies and give them
deliverance; and by His special providence so to dispose that not any
one of them were either hurt or hit, though their arrows came close by
them and on every side [_of_] them; and sundry [_several_] of their
coats, which hung up in the barricade, were shot through and through.
Afterwards they gave God solemn thanks and praise for their
deliverance, and gathered up a bundle of their arrows and sent them
into England afterward by the master of the ship, and called that
place the First Encounter.
THE STARVING TIME
But that which was most sad and lamentable was, that in two or three
months’ time half of their company died, especially in January and
February, being the depth of winter, and wanting houses and other
comforts; being infected with the scurvy and other diseases which this
long voyage and their inaccommodate [_unfit_] condition had brought
upon them. So as there died sometimes two or three of a day in the
foresaid time, that of 100 and odd persons, scarce fifty remained. And
of these, in the time of most distress, there was but six or seven
sound persons who to their great commendations, be it spoken, spared
no pains night nor day, but with abundance of toil and hazard of their
own health fetched them wood, made them fires, dressed them meat, made
their beds, washed their loathsome clothes, clothed and unclothed
them; in a word, did all the homely and necessary offices for them
which dainty and queasy stomachs cannot endure to hear named; and all
this willingly and cheerfully, without any grudging in the least,
showing herein their true love unto their friends and brethren; a rare
example and worthy to be remembered.
Two of these seven were Mr. William Brewster, their reverend Elder
[_Brewster conducted religious services during the early days of the
Plymouth colony, though he was not an ordained minister_], and Myles
Standish, their Captain and military commander, unto whom myself and
many others were much beholden [_indebted_] in our low and sick
condition. And yet the Lord so upheld these persons as in this general
calamity they were not at all infected either with sickness or
lameness. And what I have said of these I may say of many others who
died in this general visitation, and others yet living, that whilst
they had health, yea, or any strength continuing, they were not
wanting to any that had need of them. And I doubt not but their
recompense is with the Lord.
SQUANTO
All this while the Indians came skulking about them, and would
sometimes show themselves aloof off, but when any approached near
them, they would run away; and once they stole away their tools where
they had been at work and were gone to dinner. But about the 16th of
March, a certain Indian came boldly amongst them and spoke to them in
broken English, which they could well understand but marveled at it.
At length they understood by discourse with him that he was not of
these parts, but belonged to the eastern parts where some English
ships came to fish, with whom he was acquainted and could name sundry
of them by their names, amongst whom he had got his language. He
became profitable to them in acquainting them with many things
concerning the state of the country in the east parts where he
lived.... His name was Samaset. He told them also of another Indian
whose name was Squanto, a native of this place, who had been in
England and could speak better English than himself.
Being, after some time of entertainment and gifts dismissed, a while
after he came again, and five more with him, and they brought again
all the tools that were stolen away before, and made way for the
coming of their great Sachem [_chief_], called Massasoit, who, about
four or five days after, came with the chief [_part_] of his friends
and other attendance, with the aforesaid Squanto....
Squanto continued with them and was their interpreter and was a
special instrument sent of God for their good beyond their
expectation. He directed them how to set [_plant_] their corn, where
to take fish, and to procure other commodities, and was also their
pilot to bring them to unknown places for their profit, and never left
them till he died.
THE FIRST THANKSGIVING
They began now to gather in the small harvest they had, and to fit up
their houses and dwellings against winter, being all well recovered in
health and strength and had all things in good plenty. For as some
were thus employed in affairs abroad, others were exercised in
fishing, about cod and bass and other fish, of which they took good
store, of which every family had their portion. All the summer there
was no want; and now began to come in store of fowl, as winter
approached, of which this place did abound when they came first....
And besides waterfowl there was great store of wild turkeys, of which
they took many, besides venison, etc. Besides they had about a peck of
meal a week to a person, or now since harvest, Indian corn to that
proportion. Which made many afterwards write so largely of their
plenty here to their friends in England, which were not feigned
[_pretended_] but true reports.
Governor Bradford’s history does not describe the first Thanksgiving
dinner, but we have a letter written by Edward Winslow to a friend in
England, in which Winslow gives details of the feast that followed the
harvest. Governor Bradford sent out four hunters who returned with
enough wild fowl to last the colony a week. The Pilgrims then held a
celebration which was attended by Massasoit and ninety of his braves.
The Indians contributed five deer for the feast, which lasted three
days.
Soon afterwards, however, another shipload of settlers arrived on the
Fortune. The new colonists come without equipment and provisions. In
order to feed the newcomers the Plymouth colony had to go on half
rations for the following winter. Next, the colony had more Indian
trouble, not with Massasoit’s friendly tribe, but with the Narragansett
Indians. In the following selection from Bradford’s history the Governor
summarizes the end of 1621, the first full year of the colony:
Soon after this ship’s [_the Fortune’s_] departure, the great people
of the Narragansetts, in a braving manner, sent a messenger unto them
with a bundle of arrows tied about with a great snake-skin, which
their interpreters told them was a threatening and a challenge. Upon
which the Governor, with the advice of others, sent them a round
answer that if they had rather have war than peace, they might begin
when they would; they had done them no wrong, neither did they fear
them or should they find them unprovided [_unprepared_]. And by
another messenger [_he_] sent the snake-skin back with bullets in it.
But they would not receive it, but sent it back again....
But this made them [_the settlers_] the more carefully to look to
themselves, so as they agreed to enclose their dwellings with a good
strong pale [_fence_], and make flankers [_fortifications_] in
convenient places with gates to shut, which were every night locked,
and a watch kept; and when need required, there was also warding
[_guarding_] in the daytime. And the company was by the Captain’s and
the Governor’s advice divided into four squadrons, and everyone had
their quarter appointed them, unto which they were to repair upon any
sudden alarm. And if there should be any cry of fire, a company were
appointed for a guard, with muskets, whilst others quenched the same,
to prevent Indian treachery. This was accomplished very cheerfully,
and the town impaled round by the beginning of March [_1622_], in
which every family had a pretty garden plot secured.
John Winthrop 1588-1649
The Puritans who settled Boston in 1630 came to the New World with
plenty of supplies and equipment. There were more than a thousand new
colonists in the Massachusetts Bay settlements by the end of the year.
These people had the strength of numbers and did not suffer the terrible
privations of the Plymouth colony, but they still had to beat back the
wilderness and squeeze a living from the thin soil of New England.
What William Bradford was to the Plymouth colony, John Winthrop was to
Massachusetts Bay. Both colonies were fortunate in having good,
resourceful governors. John Winthrop was re-elected governor many times
between the time his flagship, the _Arbella_, dropped anchor in Boston
harbor and his death in 1649.
Cotton Mather Describes John Winthrop
The two selections which follow pertain to Governor Winthrop. The first
is part of Cotton Mather’s biographical sketch of the governor. It comes
from Mather’s _Magnalia Christi Americana_ (1702), which means the
“American Annals of Christ.” Cotton Mather himself was a famous Puritan
minister, the grandson of one of the early settlers and a historian of
the colony. The other selection consists of two of John Winthrop’s
letters to his wife, who remained in England until after the colony was
established. These are touching letters that show the wise governor as a
loving husband and a devout Christian.
MATHER’S SKETCH OF WINTHROP
Accordingly when the noble design of carrying a colony of chosen
people into an American wilderness was by some eminent persons
undertaken, this eminent person was, by the consent of all, chosen for
the Moses who must be the leader of so great an undertaking. And
indeed nothing but a Mosaic spirit could have carried him through the
temptations to which either his farewell to his own land or his travel
in a strange land must needs expose a gentleman of his education.
Wherefore having sold a fair estate of six or seven hundred [_pounds_]
a year, he transported himself with the effects of it into New England
in the year 1630, where he spent it upon the service of a famous
plantation founded and formed for the seat of the most reformed
Christianity....
But at the same time his liberality unto the needy was even beyond
measure generous.... ’Twas his custom also to send some of his family
upon errands unto the houses of the poor about their meal time on
purpose to spy whether they wanted; and if it were found that they
wanted, he would make that the opportunity of sending supplies unto
them. And there was one passage of his charity that was perhaps a
little unusual. In an hard and long winter, when wood was very scarce
at Boston, a man gave him a private information that a needy person in
the neighborhood stole wood sometimes from his pile; whereupon the
Governor in a seeming anger did reply, “Does he so? I’ll take a course
with him; go, call that man to me; I’ll warrant you I’ll cure him of
stealing!”
When the man came, the Governor, considering that if he had stolen, it
was more out of necessity than disposition, said unto him: “Friend, it
is a severe winter, and I doubt you are but meanly provided for wood;
wherefore I would have you supply yourself at my woodpile till this
cold season be over.” And he then merrily asked his friends whether he
had not effectually cured this man of stealing his wood?...
There was a time when he received a very sharp letter from a gentleman
who was a member of the court, but he delivered back the letter unto
the messengers that brought it with such a Christian speech as this:
“I am not willing to keep such a matter of provocation by me!”
Afterwards the same gentleman was compelled by the scarcity of
provisions to send unto him that he would sell him some of his cattle;
whereupon the Governor prayed him to accept what he had sent for as a
token of his good will; but the gentleman returned him this answer:
“Sir, your overcoming of yourself hath overcome me.”
THE FIRST LETTER: BEFORE LEAVING ENGLAND
My Faithful and Dear Wife,—It pleaseth God, that thou shouldst once
again hear from me before our departure, and I hope this shall come
safe to thy hands. I know it will be a great refreshing to thee. And
blessed be His mercy, that I can write thee so good news, that we are
all in very good health, and, having tried our ship’s entertainment
now more than a week, we find it agrees very well with us. Our boys
are well and cheerful, and have no mind of home. They lie both with
me, and sleep as soundly in a rug (for we use no sheets here) as ever
they did at Groton; and so I do myself (I praise God).
The wind hath been against us this week and more; but this day it is
come fair to the north, so as we are preparing (by God’s assistance)
to set sail in the morning. We have only four ships ready, and some
two or three Hollanders go along with us. The rest of our fleet (being
seven ships) will not be ready this sennight [_for a week_]. We have
spent now two Sabbaths on shipboard very comfortably (God be praised)
and are daily more and more encouraged to look for the Lord’s presence
to go along with us....
We are, in all our eleven ships, about seven hundred persons,
passengers, and two hundred and forty cows, and about sixty horses.
The ship, which went from Plymouth, carried about one hundred and
forty persons, and the ship, which goes from Bristol, carrieth about
eighty persons. And now (my sweet soul) I must once again take my last
farewell of thee in Old England. It goeth very near my heart to leave
thee; but I know to Whom I have committed thee, even to Him Who loves
thee much better than any husband can, Who hath taken account of the
hairs of thy head, and puts all thy tears in His bottle, Who can, and
(if it be for His glory) will bring us together again with peace and
comfort. Oh, how it refresheth my heart, to think, that I shall yet
again see thy sweet face in the land of the living!—that lovely
countenance that I have so much delighted in and beheld with so great
content!
I have hitherto been so taken up with business, as I could seldom look
back to my former happiness, but now when I shall be at some leisure,
I shall not avoid the remembrance of thee, nor the grief for thy
absence. Thou hast thy share with me, but I hope the course we have
agreed upon will be some ease to us both. Mondays and Fridays, at five
of the clock at night, we shall meet in spirit till we meet in person.
Yet if all these hopes should fail, blessed be our God, that we are
assured we shall meet one day, if not as husband and wife, yet in a
better condition. Let that stay and comfort thy heart. Neither can the
sea drown thy husband, nor enemies destroy, nor any adversity deprive
thee of thy husband or children.
Therefore I will only take thee now and my sweet children in mine
arms, and kiss and embrace you all, and so leave you with my God.
Farewell, farewell. I bless you all in the name of the Lord Jesus. I
salute my daughter Winth., Matt., Nan., and the rest, and all my good
neighbors and friends. Pray all for us. Farewell. Commend my blessing
to my son John. I cannot now write to him, but tell him I have
committed thee and thine to him. Labor to draw him yet nearer to God,
and he will be the surer staff of comfort to thee. I cannot name the
rest of my good friends, but thou canst supply it. I wrote a week
since to thee and Mr. Leigh and divers others.
Thine wheresoever,
Jo. Winthrop
From aboard the ARBELLA, riding at the COWES.
March 28, 1630
THE SECOND LETTER: FROM MASSACHUSETTS BAY
Charlestown in New England
July 16, 1630
My Dear Wife,—Blessed be the Lord, our good God and merciful Father,
that yet hath preserved me in life and health to salute thee, and to
comfort thy long longing heart with the joyful news of my welfare, and
the welfare of thy beloved children.
We had a long and troublesome passage, but the Lord made it safe and
easy to us; and though we have met with many and great troubles (as
this bearer can certify thee) yet He hath pleased to uphold us, and
give us hope of a happy issue.
I am so overpressed with business, as I have no time for these or
other mine own private occasions. I only write now that thou mayest
know that yet I live and am mindful of thee in all my affairs. The
larger discourse of all things thou shalt receive from my brother
Downing, which I must send by some of the last ships. We have met with
many sad and discomfortable things, as thou shalt hear after, and the
Lord’s hand hath been heavy upon myself in some very near to me. My
son Henry! my son Henry! ah, poor child! [_His son Henry was drowned
on the day the ship landed._] Yet it grieves me much more for my dear
daughter. The Lord strengthen and comfort her heart, to bear this
cross patiently. I know thou wilt not be wanting to her in this
distress. Yet for all these things (I praise my God) I am not
discouraged; nor do I see cause to repent or despair of those good
days here, which will make amends for all.
I shall expect thee next summer (if the Lord please) and by that time
I hope to be provided for thy comfortable entertainment. My most sweet
wife, be not disheartened; trust in the Lord, and thou shalt see His
faithfulness.
Commend me heartily to all our kind friends ... and all the rest of my
neighbors and their wives, both rich and poor....
The good Lord be with thee and bless thee and all our children and
servants.
Commend my love to them all; I kiss and embrace thee, my dear wife,
and all my children, and leave thee in His arms, Who is able to
preserve you all, and to fulfill our joy in our happy meeting in His
good time. Amen.
Thy faithful husband,
Jo. Winthrop.
Religious Life in America
[Illustration: “The Witch”]
New England
Religion played a vital role in the lives of our colonial ancestors.
Massachusetts and Virginia began during an age when men were fighting
religious wars in Europe. The Puritans came to America so that they
could worship God in their own manner. Even the Virginians, who came for
more worldly reasons, took their religion very seriously. Almost nowhere
in the world in those days did people believe that religion was a
private matter between man and God. The Puritans were extremely
intolerant of other religions and persecuted Quakers, Catholics, and
Jews alike. They even persecuted each other. Roger Williams, who founded
Rhode Island, was banished from Massachusetts for his opinions, and
innocent women were hanged in Salem because they were thought to be
witches. The intolerance and persecution of the seventeenth century are
well known, but one should not overlook the admirable piety and intense
love of God that these people also had.
Edward Taylor 1645-1729
The following selections were written by Edward Taylor, the most
important American poet of the Puritan period. He preached in a frontier
town of western Massachusetts and wrote poetry privately to express his
great love for God. Because his poems were so personal, he did not want
them published, and they remained in manuscript for more than 200 years.
Finally they were found in a dusty corner of the Yale University
Library.
In the following poem, Taylor imagines himself in heaven looking down on
his fellow New England Puritans, who are on their way to heaven in a
horse-drawn coach—Christ’s coach—which, of course, means figuratively
that they are going to heaven through believing in Christ. These New
England saints are singing at the top of their lungs, happy that they
are in Christ’s coach, but you will note that the harmony is not
perfect. Man is a sinful creature and sometimes, says Taylor, the
singers get out of tune. Also, he notes, there isn’t room in the coach
for everyone, and some have to walk.
The Joy of Church Fellowship Rightly Attended
In heaven soaring up, I dropt an ear
On earth, and oh! sweet melody!
And listening, found it was the saints who were
Encoached for heaven that sang for joy.
For in Christ’s coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
Oh! joyous hearts! Enfired with holy flame!
Is speech thus tasseled with praise?
Will not your inward fire of joy contain
That it in open flames doth blaze?
For in Christ’s coach saints sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
And if a string do slip, by chance, they soon
Do screw it up again: whereby
They set it in a more melodious tune
And a diviner harmony.
For in Christ’s coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
In all their acts, public and private, nay,
And secret too, they praise impart.
But in their acts divine and worship, they
With hymns do offer up their heart.
Thus in Christ’s coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
Some few not in, and some whose time and place
Block up this coach’s way, do go
As travelers afoot: and so do trace
The road that gives them right thereto;
While in this coach these sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
Next, Taylor’s great love of God is expressed in a beautiful figure of
speech in which the poet wants God to use him as a housewife uses wool
to make yarn and yarn to make cloth. In the first stanza, he asks God to
make him into a spinning wheel, of which the flyers, distaff, spool, and
reel all are parts. In the second stanza, Taylor wants to be a loom on
which God can weave holy robes. A fulling mill is a place where cloth is
dyed. Finally, the poet wants God to clothe him in the holy robes made
on this imaginary loom. This poem is a highly original way to ask God to
give one faith, love, and understanding. You should consider it a
prayer.
Housewifery
Make me, O Lord, Thy spinning-wheel complete;
Thy holy Word my distaff make for me;
Make mine affections Thy swift flyers neat;
And make my soul Thy holy spool to be;
My conversation make to be Thy reel,
And reel the yarn thereon, spun of Thy wheel.
Make me Thy loom then; knit therein this twine;
And make Thy Holy Spirit, Lord, wind quills;
Then weave the web Thyself. The yarn is fine.
Thine ordinances make my fulling mills.
Then dye the same in heavenly colors choice,
All pinked with varnished flowers of paradise.
Then clothe therewith mine understanding, will,
Affections, judgment, conscience, memory,
My words and actions, that their shine may fill
My ways with glory and Thee glorify.
Then mine apparel shall display before Ye
That I am clothed in holy robes for glory.
The Salem Witch Trials
During the seventeenth century, the superstitions of the Middle Ages had
not yet relaxed their hold on men’s minds. People still believed in
witches, even such a prominent clergyman as Cotton Mather. Hence, the
events of 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts, are understandable, though they
are nonetheless tragic. Early that year Betty Parris and Abigail
Williams, who were nine and eleven years old, began having strange fits.
Soon the mysterious disease spread to other girls in the village. When
the local doctor, with his primitive knowledge of medicine, could not
diagnose the trouble, he concluded that the devil must have bewitched
the girls.
This diagnosis did not surprise anyone. The New England Puritans
believed that the devil was always at work trying to tempt them from the
path of righteousness. The parents of the children set about to discover
the identity of the devil’s agent who was tormenting their girls. They
questioned the children at length until the children really began to
believe they were bewitched. Betty and Abigail then accused three women
in the community of practicing witchcraft: Tituba, an illiterate slave
from Barbados; Sarah Good, a sharp-tongued woman whom many in the
village thought a nuisance; and Sarah Osburne, a backslider who did not
go to church. No one was surprised when these women were named as
witches. The town proceeded to examine the three on charges of
practicing witchcraft. John Hathorne, ancestor of the novelist Nathaniel
Hawthorne, conducted the hearing in the village church.
The first of the accused to be questioned was Sarah Good, who denied the
charges with vigor. Then came Sarah Osburne, who was dragged out of a
sickbed to testify. She, too, denied the charges. But, every time these
women denied the charges the children became hysterical and went into
their fits. Finally, the old slave Tituba was questioned. She apparently
decided that she should tell her accusers what they wanted to hear, and
she concocted a wild tale of witchcraft out of her rich imagination. The
selections that follow are actual transcripts of the testimony taken
down that infamous day, March 1, 1692, in Salem by the village clerk.
The proceedings have been edited just enough to make them readable.
HATHORNE: Sarah Good, what evil spirit have you familiarity with?
GOOD: None.
H: Have you made no contract with the devil?
G: No.
H: Why do you hurt these children?
G: I do not hurt them. I scorn it.
H: Who do you employ then to do it?
G: I employ nobody.
H: What creature do you employ then?
G: No creature; I am falsely accused.
H: Why did you go away muttering from Mr. Parris’ house?
G: I did not mutter, but I thanked him for what he gave my child.
H: Have you made no contract with the devil?
G: No.
Judge Hathorne desired the children, all of them, to look upon her and
see if this were the person that had hurt them, and so they all did
look upon her and said this was one of the persons that did torment
them. Presently they were all tormented.
H: Sarah Good, do you not see now what you have done? Why do you not
tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment these poor children?
G: I do not torment them.
H: Who do you employ then?
G: I employ nobody. I scorn it.
H: How came they thus tormented?
G: What do I know? You bring others here, and now you charge me with
it.
H: Why who was it?
G: I do not know, but it was someone you brought into the meeting
house with you.
H: We brought you into the meeting house.
G: But you brought in two more.
H: Who was it then that tormented the children?
G: It was Osburne.
H: What is it you say when you go muttering away from persons’ houses?
G: If I must tell, I will tell.
H: Do tell us then.
G: It is the commandments. I may say my commandments, I hope.
The testimony went on for a while longer. Sarah Good continued to be a
very uncooperative witness, but finally Judge Hathorne finished with her
and called Sarah Osburne to the stand.
HATHORNE: What evil spirit have you familiarity with?
OSBURNE: None.
H: Have you made no contract with the devil?
O: No, I never saw the devil in my life.
H: Why do you hurt these children?
O: I do not hurt them.
H: Who do you employ then to hurt them?
O: I employ nobody.
H: What familiarity have you with Sarah Good?
O: None. I have not seen her these two years.
H: Where did you see her then?
O: One day a-going to town.
H: What communications had you with her?
O: I had none, only, how do you do or so. I did not know her name.
H: What did you call her then?
[_At this point Sarah Osburne had to admit that she had called her
Sarah._]
H: Sarah Good saith that it was you that hurt the children.
O: I do not know if the devil goes about in my likeness to do any
hurt.
Mr. Hathorne desired all the children to stand up and look upon her
and see if they did know her, which they all did, and every one of
them said that this was one of the women that did afflict them and
that they had constantly seen her in the very habit that she was now
in.
The evidence continued. In a feeble effort to gain sympathy, she said
that she “was more like to be bewitched than that she was a witch.” Mr.
Hathorne asked her what made her say this. She answered that she was
frightened one time in her sleep and either saw or dreamed that she saw
a thing “like an Indian all black which did prick her in the neck and
pulled her by the back part of her head to the door of the house.” Mr.
Hathorne asked her if she had seen anything else. She replied that she
had not. At this point, however, some of the spectators said that Sarah
Osburne also had heard the voice of a lying spirit.
H: Hath the devil ever deceived you and been false to you?
O: I do not know the devil. I never did see him.
H: What lying spirit was it then?
O: It was a voice that I thought I heard.
H: What did it propound to you?
O: That I should go no more to meeting, but I said I would and did go
the next Sabbath day.
H: Were you never tempted further?
O: No.
H: Why did you yield thus far to the devil as never to go to meeting
since?
O: Alas! I have been sick and not able to go.
Sarah Osburne was then dismissed from the stand, and Mr. Hathorne
began to question Tituba, the slave, who told her questioners just
what they wanted to hear.
HATHORNE: Did you never see the devil?
TITUBA: The devil came to me and bid me serve him....
H: What service?
T: Hurt the children, and last night there was an appearance
[_apparition_] that said to kill the children and if I would not go on
hurting the children they would do worse to me.
H: What is this appearance you see?
T: Sometimes he is like a hog and sometimes like a great dog.
H: What did it say to you?
T: The black dog said, “Serve me,” but I said, “I am afraid.” He said
if I did not he would do worse to me.
H: What did you say to it?
T: I will serve you no longer. Then he said he would hurt me, and then
he looked like a man. This man had a yellow bird that he kept with
him, and he told me he had more pretty things that he would give me if
I would serve him....
H: Did you not pinch Elizabeth Hubbard this morning?
T: The man brought her to me and made me pinch her.
H: Why did you go to Thomas Putnam’s last night and hurt his child?
T: They pull and haul me and make me go....
H: How did you go?
T: We ride upon sticks and are there presently.
H: Why did you not tell your master?
T: I was afraid. They said they would cut off my head if I told....
H: Did not you hurt Mr. Corwin’s child?
T: Goody [_Mrs._] Good and Goody Osburne told me that they did hurt
Mr. Corwin’s child and would have had me hurt him too, but I did
not....
H: Do you see who it is that torments these children now?
T: Yes, it is Goody Good. She hurts them now in her own shape.
And so the testimony went. Tituba’s story was even more sensational when
she described the “tall man of Boston,” who was supposed to be a wizard
in charge of all the local witches. The court adjourned for the day,
convinced that the devil had chosen Salem as a special point of attack.
Soon, other people in the village began imagining that they, too, were
being pursued by witches. Neighbor began accusing neighbor until the
whole community was swept up by the hysteria.
Throughout the summer of 1692, Salem was gripped by the witch hunt.
Twenty persons were executed for witchcraft; 55 were frightened or
tortured into confessing their guilt; 150 were jailed; more than 200
were denounced by former friends and neighbors. For a time it looked as
if Massachusetts had gone mad. But when the denunciations began to
include some of the most prominent members of the community, such as the
acting president of Harvard College, the authorities knew the hysteria
had to stop or it would destroy the colony. In September the trials were
halted and the jails emptied. In succeeding years many people repented
their part in the tragic business, and the state even restored some of
the property confiscated from the so-called witches.
Samuel Sewall’s Confession of Error
Five years after the unhappy episode ended, one of the judges, Samuel
Sewall, courageously made public confession of error. As the minister
read aloud Sewall’s confession of shame, the judge stood in his pew with
head bowed.
“Samuel Sewall, sensible of the reiterated strokes of God upon himself
and family, and being sensible that as to the guilt contracted upon
the opening of the late commission of Oyer and Terminer at Salem [_the
trials_], to which the order for this Day relates, he is, upon many
accounts, more concerned than any that he knows of, desires to take
the blame and shame of it, asking pardon of men and especially
desiring prayers that God, Who has an unlimited authority, would
pardon that sin and all other his sins, personal and relative: and
according to His infinite benignity and sovereignty not visit the sin
of him or of any other upon himself or any of his, nor upon the land:
but that He would powerfully defend him against all temptations to sin
for the future and vouchsafe him the efficacious saving conduct of His
word and spirit.”
Thereafter, for the rest of his life, Samuel Sewall observed one day of
prayer and fasting each year as penance for his part in the Salem witch
trials.
The Great Awakening
Within a century after the Puritan migration to New England, life in the
colonies was changing. New England Puritans were becoming Yankee
traders, and the religious fervor that brought Bradford and Winthrop and
their followers to the New World was dying out. At this time there
appeared upon the American scene a great preacher and theologian,
Jonathan Edwards. After entering Yale College at the age of 13, he had
gone on to study theology and then enter the ministry. By 1729 he had
succeeded his grandfather as pastor of the village church in
Northampton, Massachusetts. During his ministry in Northampton, Edwards
led a great revival movement, which has come to be known as the Great
Awakening. It was an effort to rekindle the dying sparks of Puritanism,
and for a time it brought new religious vitality to New England. The
movement also spread to other colonies.
During the Great Awakening Edwards made many converts. While he was
doing this, he also was concerned with the psychology of religious
enthusiasm. One of his most interesting books is called Narrative of
Surprising Conversions. In it he records some of the more remarkable
effects of the revival movement that he led. The account of
four-year-old Phebe Bartlet’s conversion, which Edwards writes about in
the following selection, is an astonishing story. Phebe certainly was
not a typical child, but the fact that any child could undergo the
religious experience Edwards describes reminds us again that religion
played a central role in the lives of our colonial ancestors.
She was born in March, in the year 1731. About the latter end of April,
or beginning of May, 1735, she was greatly affected by the talk of her
brother, who had been hopefully converted a little before, at about
eleven years of age, and then seriously talked to her about the great
things of religion. Her parents did not know of it at that time, and
were not wont, in the counsels they gave to their children, particularly
to direct themselves to her, by reason of her being so young, and, as
they supposed, not capable of understanding; but after her brother had
talked to her, they observed her very earnestly to listen to the advice
they gave to the other children, and she was observed very constantly to
retire, several times in a day, as was concluded, for secret prayer, and
grew more and more engaged in religion, and was more frequently in her
closet, till at last she was wont to visit it five or six times in a
day, and was so engaged in it, that nothing would, at any time, divert
her from her stated closet exercises. Her mother often observed and
watched her, when such things occurred, as she thought most likely to
divert her, either by putting it out of her thoughts, or otherwise
engaging her inclinations, but never could observe her to fail. She
mentioned some very remarkable instances.
She once, of her own accord, spake of her unsuccessfulness, in that she
could not find God, or to that purpose. But on Thursday, the last of
July, about the middle of the day, the child being in the closet, where
it used to retire, its mother heard it speaking aloud, which was
unusual, and never had been observed before; and her voice seemed to be
as of one exceeding importunate and engaged, but her mother could
distinctly hear only these words (spoken in her childish manner, but
seemed to be spoken with extraordinary earnestness, and out of distress
of soul), “Pray BLESSED LORD, give me salvation! I PRAY, BEG, pardon all
my sins!” When the child had done prayer, she came out of the closet,
and came and sat down by her mother, and cried out aloud. Her mother
very earnestly asked her several times, what the matter was, before she
would make any answer, but she continued exceedingly crying, and
wreathing her body to and fro, like one in anguish of spirit. Her mother
then asked her whether she was afraid that God would not give her
salvation. She then answered, “Yes, I am afraid I shall go to hell!” Her
mother then endeavored to quiet her, and told her she would not have her
cry—she must be a good girl, and pray every day, and she hoped God would
give her salvation. But this did not quiet her at all—but she continued
thus earnestly crying and taking on for some time, till at length she
suddenly ceased crying and began to smile, and presently said with a
smiling countenance, “Mother, the kingdom of heaven is come to me!” Her
mother was surprised at the sudden alteration, and at the speech, and
knew not what to make of it, but at first said nothing to her....
The same day the elder children, when they came home from school, seemed
much affected with the extraordinary change that seemed to be made in
Phebe; and her sister Abigail standing by, her mother took occasion to
counsel her, now to improve her time, to prepare for another world; on
which Phebe burst out in tears, and cried out, “Poor Nabby!” Her mother
told her she would not have her cry, she hoped that God would give Nabby
salvation; but that did not quiet her, but she continued earnestly
crying for some time; and when she had in a measure ceased, her sister
Eunice being by her, she burst out again, and cried, “Poor Eunice!” and
cried exceedingly; and when she had almost done, she went into another
room, and there looked upon her sister Naomi, and burst out again,
crying, “Poor Amy!” Her mother was greatly affected at such behavior in
the child, and knew not what to say to her. One of the neighbors coming
in a little after, asked her what she had cried for. She seemed, at
first, backward to tell the reason. Her mother told her she might tell
that person, for he had given her an apple; upon which she said she
cried because she was afraid they would go to hell....
From this time there has appeared a very remarkable abiding change in
the child: she has been very strict upon the Sabbath, and seems to long
for the Sabbath day before it comes, and will often in the week time be
inquiring how long it is to the Sabbath day, and must have the days
particularly counted over that are between, before she will be
contented. And she seems to love God’s house—is very eager to go
thither. Her mother once asked her why she had such a mind to go?
Whether it was not to see the fine folks? She said no, it was to hear
Mr. Edwards preach. When she is in the place of worship, she is very far
from spending her time there as children at her age usually do, but
appears with an attention that is very extraordinary for such a child.
She also appears, very desirous at all opportunities, to go to private
religious meetings, and is very still and attentive at home, in prayer
time, and has appeared affected in time of family prayer.
Other Colonies
John Woolman’s Journal
Although one may think first of New England Puritanism in discussing the
religious life of the colonies, America was founded by many religious
groups. The Church of England was dominant in the southern colonies,
Maryland was founded by Catholics, and New York was settled by
Netherlanders who belonged to the Dutch Reformed Church. Still another
important religious influence was the Quaker faith, represented most
significantly by William Penn, who established the Pennsylvania colony.
There also were many Quakers in New Jersey, one of whom, John Woolman,
is the writer of the following selection.
Woolman was a simple, plain tailor and shopkeeper who spent much of his
adult life traveling about the colonies visiting Quaker churches. His
Journal gives a clear account of the faith and life of a Quaker. The
portion printed below (from the original edition published in
Philadelphia in 1774) details Woolman’s boyhood and early religious
experience.
I was born in Northampton, in Burlington County, West-Jersey, in the
year 1720; and before I was seven years old I began to be acquainted
with the operations of divine love. Through the care of my parents, I
was taught to read nearly as soon as I was capable of it; and, as I
went from school one Seventh Day [_the Quaker’s term for Saturday;
Sunday is the First Day_], I remember, while my companions went to
play by the way, I went forward out of sight, and, sitting down, I
read the 22d Chapter of the Revelations: “He showed me a pure river of
water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God
and of the Lamb,” etc., and, in reading it, my mind was drawn to seek
after that pure habitation, which, I then believed, God had prepared
for His servants. The place where I sat, and the sweetness that
attended my mind, remain fresh in my memory.
This, and the like gracious visitations, had that effect upon me, that
when boys used ill language it troubled me; and, through the continued
mercies of God, I was preserved from it.
The pious instructions of my parents were often fresh in my mind when
I happened to be among wicked children, and were of use to me. My
parents, having a large family of children, used frequently, on First
Days after meeting, to put us to read in the holy scriptures, or some
religious books, one after another, the rest sitting by without much
conversation; which, I have since often thought, was a good practice.
From what I had read and heard, I believed there had been, in past
ages, people who walked in uprightness before God, in a degree
exceeding any that I knew, or heard of, now living: and the
apprehension of there being less steadiness and firmness, amongst
people in this age than in past ages, often troubled me while I was a
child....
A thing remarkable in my childhood was, that once, going to a
neighbour’s house, I saw, on the way, a robin sitting on her nest, and
as I came near she went off, but having young ones flew about, and
with many cries expressed her concern for them; I stood and threw
stones at her, till, one striking her, she fell down dead: at first I
was pleased with the exploit, but after a few minutes was seized with
horror, as having, in a sportive way, killed an innocent creature
while she was careful for her young. I beheld her lying dead, and
thought these young ones, for which she was so careful, must now
perish for want of their dam to nourish them; and after some painful
considerations on the subject, I climbed up the tree, took all the
young birds, and killed them; supposing that better than to leave them
to pine away and die miserably: and believed, in this case, that
scripture-proverb was fulfilled, “The tender mercies of the wicked are
cruel.” I then went on my errand, but, for some hours, could think of
little else but the cruelties I had committed, and was much troubled.
Thus, He, Whose tender mercies are over all His works, hath placed a
principle in the human mind, which incites to exercise goodness
towards every living creature; and this being singly attended to,
people become tender hearted and sympathizing; but being frequently
and totally rejected, the mind becomes shut up in a contrary
disposition.
About the twelfth year of my age, my father being abroad, my mother
reproved me for some misconduct, to which I made an undutiful reply;
and, the next First Day, as I was with my father returning from
meeting, he told me he understood I had behaved amiss to my mother,
and advised me to be more careful in [_the_] future. I knew myself
blameable, and in shame and confusion remained silent. Being thus
awakened to a sense of my wickedness, I felt remorse in my mind, and,
getting home, I retired and prayed to the Lord to forgive me; and do
not remember that I ever, after that, spoke unhandsomely to either of
my parents, however foolish in some other things.
Having attained the age of sixteen years, I began to love wanton
company; and though I was preserved from profane language, or
scandalous conduct, still I perceived a plant in me which produced
much wild grapes; yet my merciful Father forsook me not utterly, but,
at times, through His grace, I was brought seriously to consider my
ways; and the sight of my backslidings affected me with sorrow; but,
for want of rightly attending to the reproofs of instruction, vanity
was added to vanity, and repentance to repentance: upon the whole, my
mind was more and more alienated from the truth, and I hastened toward
destruction. While I meditate on the gulf towards which I travelled,
and reflect on my youthful disobedience, for these things I weep, mine
eyes run down with water.
Advancing in age, the number of my acquaintances increased, and
thereby my way grew more difficult; though I had found comfort in
reading the holy scriptures, and thinking on heavenly things, I was
now estranged therefrom: I knew I was going from the flock of Christ,
and had no resolution to return; hence serious reflections were uneasy
to me, and youthful vanities and diversions my greatest pleasure.
Running in this road I found many like myself; and we associated in
that which is the reverse of true friendship.
But in this swift race it pleased God to visit me with sickness, so
that I doubted of recovering; and then did darkness, horror, and
amazement, with full force, seize me, even when my pain and distress
of body was very great. I thought it would have been better for me
never to have had a being, than to see the day which I now saw. I was
filled with confusion; and in great affliction, both of mind and body,
I lay and bewailed myself. I had not confidence to lift up my cries to
God, Whom I had thus offended; but, in a deep sense of my great folly,
I was humbled before Him; and, at length, that Word which is as a fire
and a hammer, broke and dissolved my rebellious heart, and then my
cries were put up in contrition; and in the multitude of His mercies I
found inward relief, and felt a close engagement, that, if He was
pleased to restore my health, I might walk humbly before Him.
Colonial Problems
[Illustration: Woman captured by Indians]
Indian Troubles
As we have seen, the task of planting colonies in the New World took
stout hearts and strong arms. The major problem was the unspectacular
one of scratching a living from the soil. There were, in addition, more
dramatic problems, such as Indian skirmishes and even full-scale war.
More and more land was being taken up by the English settlers. In New
England, an Indian leader known as King Philip organized a big Indian
drive to rid the country of English settlers. This drive was known as
King Philip’s War and was waged in the years 1675-76. In this conflict,
the Indians of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut spread
terror throughout New England and burnt many houses, but in the end were
nearly wiped out themselves. During the next century, England and France
fought for control of the Mississippi Valley. In the latter part of this
struggle, between 1754 and 1763, usually called the French and Indian
War, the American colonies found themselves the battleground for the
rivalries of two great European powers.
Mrs. Rowlandson’s Captivity
In the selection that follows, Mary Rowlandson, a New England housewife,
tells of her capture by the Indians and her captivity during King
Philip’s War. She was held by the Indians for twelve weeks until her
friends were able to ransom her. As vivid today as when it was written
in 1682, this narrative is called _A True History of the Captivity and
Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson_.
THE ATTACK
On the tenth of February, 1675, came the Indians with great numbers
upon Lancaster [_Massachusetts_]. Their first coming was about
sunrising; hearing the noise of some guns, we looked out; several
houses were burning, and the smoke ascending to heaven. There were
five persons taken in one house; the father and the mother and a
sucking child they knocked on the head; the other two they took and
carried away alive. There were two others who, being out of their
garrison upon some occasion, were set upon; one was knocked on the
head, the other escaped. Another there was who, running along, was
shot and wounded, and fell down; he begged of them his life, promising
them money (as they told me); but they would not hearken to him, but
knocked him in [_the_] head, and stripped him naked, and split open
his bowels. Another seeing many of the Indians about his barn ventured
and went out, but was quickly shot down. There were three others
belonging to the same garrison who were killed; the Indians, getting
up upon the roof of the barn, had advantage to shoot down upon them
over their fortification. Thus these murderous wretches went on,
burning and destroying before them.
At length they came and beset our own house, and quickly it was the
dolefulest day that ever mine eyes saw. The house stood upon the edge
of a hill; some of the Indians got behind the hill, others into the
barn, and others behind anything that could shelter them; from all
which places they shot against the house, so that the bullets seemed
to fly like hail; and quickly they wounded one man among us, then
another, and then a third. About two hours (according to my
observation in that amazing time) they had been about the house before
they prevailed to fire it (which they did with flax and hemp, which
they brought out of the barn, and there being no defense about the
house, only two flankers [_fortifications_] at two opposite corners,
and one of them not finished). They fired it once and one ventured out
and quenched it, but they quickly fired it again, and that took.
Now is the dreadful hour come that I have often heard of (in time of
war, as it was in the case of others), but now mine eyes see it. Some
in our house were fighting for their lives, others wallowing in their
blood, the house on fire over our heads, and the bloody heathen ready
to knock us on the head if we stirred out. Now might we hear mothers
and children crying out for themselves and one another, “Lord, what
shall we do?” Then I took my children (and one of my sisters hers) to
go forth and leave the house, but as soon as we came to the door and
appeared, the Indians shot so thick that the bullets rattled against
the house as if one had taken an handful of stones and threw them, so
that we were fain to give back. We had six stout dogs belonging to our
garrison, but none of them would stir, though another time, if an
Indian had come to the door, they were ready to fly upon him and tear
him down. The Lord hereby would make us the more to acknowledge His
hand, and to see that our help is always in Him.
But out we must go, the fire increasing, and coming along behind us
roaring, and the Indians gaping before us with their guns, spears, and
hatchets to devour us. No sooner were we out of the house but my
brother-in-law (being before wounded in defending the house, in or
near the throat) fell down dead, whereat the Indians scornfully
shouted and hallowed, and were presently upon him, stripping off his
clothes. The bullets flying thick, one went through my side, and the
same (as would seem) through the bowels and hand of my dear child in
my arms. One of my elder sister’s children (named William) had then
his leg broken, which the Indians perceiving they knocked him on the
head. Thus were we butchered by those merciless heathen, standing
amazed, with the blood running down to our heels. My eldest sister
being yet in the house, and seeing those woeful sights, the infidels
hauling mothers one way and children another, and some wallowing in
their blood, and her elder son telling her that her son William was
dead and myself was wounded, she said, “And, Lord, let me die with
them”; which was no sooner said but she was struck with a bullet and
fell down dead over the threshold.
Of the thirty-seven persons in the house, twelve were killed and only
one escaped. Mrs. Rowlandson and her baby were among the remaining
twenty-four taken captive.
THE FIRST REMOVE
Now away we must go with those barbarous creatures, with our bodies
wounded and bleeding, and our hearts no less than our bodies. About a
mile we went that night up upon a hill, within sight of the town,
where they intended to lodge. There was hard by a vacant house
(deserted by the English before, for fear of the Indians); I asked
them whether I might not lodge in the house that night, to which they
answered, “What, will you love Englishmen still?” This was the
dolefulest night that ever my eyes saw. Oh, the roaring, and singing,
and dancing, and yelling of those black creatures in the night, which
made the place a lively resemblance of hell! And as miserable was the
waste that was there made, of horses, cattle, sheep, swine, calves,
lambs, roasting pigs, and fowl (which they had plundered in the town),
some roasting, some lying and burning, and some boiling, to feed our
merciless enemies, who were joyful enough, though we were
disconsolate.
To add to the dolefulness of the former day and the dismalness of the
present night, my thoughts ran upon my losses and sad, bereaved
condition. All was gone, my husband gone (at least separated from me,
he being in the Bay; and to add to my grief, the Indians told me they
would kill him as he came homeward), my children gone, my relations
and friends gone, our house and home, and all our comforts within door
and without—all was gone (except my life), and I knew not but the next
moment that might go too.
There remained nothing to me but one poor, wounded babe, and it seemed
at present worse than death, that it was in such a pitiful condition,
bespeaking compassion, and I had no refreshing for it nor suitable
things to revive it. Little do many think what is the savageness and
brutishness of this barbarous enemy ... when the English have fallen
into their hands....
THE SECOND REMOVE
But now (the next morning) I must turn my back upon the town, and
travel with them into the vast and desolate wilderness, I know not
whither. It is not my tongue or pen can express the sorrows of my
heart and bitterness of my spirit that I had at this departure; but
God was with me in a wonderful manner, carrying me along and bearing
up my spirit, that it did not quite fail. One of the Indians carried
my poor wounded babe upon a horse; it went moaning all along: “I shall
die, I shall die.” I went on foot after it, with sorrow that cannot be
expressed. At length I took it off the horse and carried it in my
arms, till my strength failed and I fell down with it.
Then they set me upon a horse with my wounded child in my lap; and
there being no furniture [_saddle_] upon the horseback, as we were
going down a steep hill, we both fell over the horse’s head, at which
they, like inhuman creatures, laughed and rejoiced to see it, though I
thought we should there have ended our days, overcome with so many
difficulties. But the Lord renewed my strength still, and carried me
along, that I might see more of His power, yea, so much that I could
never have thought of, had I not experienced it.
After this it quickly began to snow; and when the night came on they
stopped; and now down I must sit in the snow by a little fire, and a
few boughs behind me, with my sick child in my lap and calling much
for water, being now (through the wound) fallen into a violent fever.
My own wound also growing so stiff that I could scarce sit down or
rise up, yet so it must be, that I must sit all this cold winter night
upon the cold snowy ground, with my sick child in my arms, looking
that every hour would be the last of its life, and having no Christian
friend near me, either to comfort or help me. Oh, I may see the
wonderful power of God, that my spirit did not utterly sink under my
affliction; still the Lord upheld me with His gracious and merciful
spirit, and we were both alive to see the light of the next morning.
THE THIRD REMOVE
The morning being come, they prepared to go on their way. One of the
Indians got up upon a horse, and they set me up behind him, with my
poor sick babe in my lap. A very wearisome and tedious day I had of
it; what with my own wound and my child’s being so exceeding sick, and
in a lamentable condition with her wound. It may be easily judged what
a poor feeble condition we were in, there being not the least crumb of
refreshing that came within either of our mouths from Wednesday night
to Saturday night, except only a little cold water....
Thus nine days I sat upon my knees with my babe in my lap, till my
flesh was raw again; my child being even ready to depart this
sorrowful world, they bade me carry it out to another wigwam (I
suppose because they would not be troubled with such spectacles)
whither I went with a very heavy heart, and down I sat with the
picture of death in my lap. About two hours in the night my sweet babe
like a lamb departed this life, on February 18, 1675, it being about
six years and five months old. It was nine days from the first
wounding, in this miserable condition, without any refreshing of one
nature or other, except a little cold water.... In the morning, when
they understood that my child was dead they sent for me home to my
master’s wigwam.... I went to take up my dead child in my arms to
carry it with me, but they bid me let it alone. There was no
resisting, but go I must and leave it. When I had been at my master’s
wigwam, I took the first opportunity I could get to go look after my
dead child. When I came I asked them what they had done with it? Then
they told me it was upon the hill. Then they went and showed me where
it was, where I saw the ground was newly digged, and there they told
me they had buried it. There I left that child in the wilderness and
must commit it and myself also in this wilderness condition to Him who
is above all.
Mrs. Rowlandson’s ordeal lasted twelve weeks, after which she was
ransomed and allowed to return home to her husband, who had survived
the attack. Her two other children, also captured with her, were
rescued and reunited with their parents.
Conflict with France
George Washington’s Letter on Braddock’s Defeat
On July 9, 1755, during the French and Indian War, Colonel George
Washington took part in the Battle of Monongahela, in which General
Braddock was killed and his army routed. Washington had advised Braddock
to push on rapidly towards the French-held Fort Duquesne and to leave
behind his artillery and baggage wagons so that he could move through
the wilderness as fast as possible. Washington feared the consequences
of moving too slowly and wrote his brother a few days before the battle
that the army “instead of pushing on with vigor, without regarding a
little rough road” was “halting to level every mold hill and to erect
bridges over every brook; by which means we were four days getting
twelve miles.” Washington’s fear of disaster was only too well-founded.
The following letter is his account of the battle, written to his mother
nine days later:
Fort Cumberland, July 18, 1755
Honored Madam:
As I doubt not but you have heard of our defeat, and perhaps have it
represented in a worse light (if possible) than it deserves; I have
taken this earliest opportunity to give you some account of the
engagement, as it happened within seven miles of the French fort, on
Wednesday the ninth.
We marched on to that place without any considerable loss, having only
now and then a straggler picked up by the French scouting Indians.
When we came here, we were attacked by a body of French and Indians
whose number (I am certain) did not exceed 300 men; ours consisted of
about 1,300 well-armed troops, chiefly of the English soldiers who
were struck with such a panic that they behaved with more cowardice
than it is possible to conceive. The officers behaved gallantly in
order to encourage their men, for which they suffered greatly, there
being nearly 60 killed and wounded, a large proportion out of the
number we had! The Virginia troops showed a good deal of bravery and
were near all killed, for I believe out of three companies that were
there, there is scarce 30 men left alive. Capt. Peyrouny and all his
officers down to a corporal was killed. Capt. Polson shared near as
hard a fate, for only one of his was left. In short the dastardly
behavior of those they call regulars exposed all others that were
inclined to do their duty to almost certain death, and at last, in
despite of all the efforts of the officers to the contrary, they broke
and run as sheep pursued by dogs, and it was impossible to rally them.
The general was wounded, of which he died three days after. Sir Peter
Halket was killed in the field where died many other brave officers. I
luckily escaped without a wound, though I had four bullets through my
coat and two horses shot under me. Captains Orme and Morris, two of
the general’s aides de camp, were wounded early in the engagement,
which rendered the duty hard upon me, as I was the only person then
left to distribute the general’s orders, which I was scarcely able to
do, as I was not half recovered from a violent illness that confined
me to my bed and a wagon for above ten days. I am still in a weak and
feeble condition, which induces me to halt here two or three days in
hopes of recovering a little strength to enable me to proceed
homewards, from whence, I fear, I shall not be able to stir till
towards September, so that I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you
till then, unless it be in Fairfax. Please give my love to Mr. Lewis
[_his brother-in-law_] and my sister and compliments to Mr. Jackson
and all other friends that inquire after me. I am, Honored Madam, your
most dutiful son.
Benjamin Franklin’s Comments
Benjamin Franklin shared George Washington’s doubts about Braddock’s
ability to capture Fort Duquesne. As a public-spirited citizen, Franklin
had taken the initiative in collecting wagons from Pennsylvania farmers
to transport the army’s supplies. His comments on Braddock, written many
years later, come from his autobiography.
This general was, I think, a brave man, and might probably have made a
figure as a good officer in some European war. But he had too much
self-confidence, too high an opinion of the validity of regular
troops, and too mean a one of both Americans and Indians. George
Croghan, our Indian interpreter, joined him on his march with one
hundred of those people, who might have been of great use to his army
as guides, scouts, etc., if he had treated them kindly; but he
slighted and neglected them, and they gradually left him.
In conversation with him one day, he was giving me some account of his
intended progress. “After taking Fort Duquesne,” says he, “I am to
proceed to Niagara; and having taken that to Frontenac, if the season
will allow time; and I suppose it will, for Duquesne can hardly detain
me above three or four days; and then I see nothing that can obstruct
my march to Niagara.” Having before revolved in my mind the long line
his army must make in their march by a very narrow road, to be cut for
them through the woods and bushes, and also what I had read of a
former defeat of fifteen hundred French who invaded the Iroquois
country, I had conceived some doubts and some fears for the event of
the campaign. But I ventured only to say, “To be sure, sir, if you
arrive well before Duquesne, with these fine troops, so well provided
with artillery, that place, not yet completely fortified, and as we
hear with no very strong garrison, can probably make but a short
resistance. The only danger I apprehend of obstruction to your march
is from ambuscades of Indians, who, by constant practice, are
dexterous in laying and executing them; and the slender line, near
four miles long, which your army must make, may expose it to be
attacked by surprise in its flanks, and to be cut like a thread into
several pieces, which, from their distance, can not come up in time to
support each other.”
He smiled at my ignorance, and replied, “These savages may, indeed, be
a formidable enemy to your raw American militia, but upon the king’s
regular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should make
any impression.” I was conscious of an impropriety in my disputing
with a military man in matters of his profession, and said no more.
Colonial Life
[Illustration: Benjamin Franklin]
Transportation
Life in the United States has changed beyond recognition from life in
America in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In thousands of
ways people live differently. They work, they play, they eat, and they
even sleep differently. Then, there was no station wagon in the garage
to take the family to the beach or mountains over weekends and no
telephone at hand to call a friend to ask how to do tomorrow’s algebra
problem. Life was slower-paced than it is today, and was not complicated
by the machines that have become masters as well as slaves of our
society. The selections that follow will give you an insight into the
daily lives of several interesting early Americans. It is just as
important to understand how people lived in colonial times as it is to
know about wars and kings and presidents.
Sarah Kemble Knight 1666-1727
Madam Knight, as Sarah Kemble Knight is known, was a Boston
schoolteacher and businesswoman. In the autumn of 1704 she made a
business trip to New York by way of Rhode Island and Connecticut. On the
journey she kept a journal which gives a vivid account of her
experiences. You will find that this Boston woman writes about
Connecticut as though it were a foreign country. She had a good sense of
humor and a keen eye for detail. You learn in this report that not all
of your New England ancestors were cultivated people like governors
Winthrop and Bradford.
THE THIRD DAY
Wednesday, October 4, 1704
About four in the morning, we set out for Kingston [_Rhode Island_]
(for so was the town called) with a French doctor in our company. He
and the post put on very furiously, so that I could not keep up with
them, only as now and then they’d stop till they see me. This road was
poorly furnished with accommodations for travelers, so that we were
forced to ride 22 miles by the post’s account, but nearer thirty by
mine, before we could bait [_feed_] so much as our horses, which I
exceedingly complained of. But the post encouraged me by saying we
should be well accommodated anon at Mr. Devil’s, a few miles further.
But I questioned whether we ought to go to the devil to be helped out
of affliction. However, like the rest of [_the_] deluded souls that
post to the infernal den, we made all possible speed to this devil’s
habitation, where, alighting in full assurance of good accommodation,
we were going in. But meeting his two daughters, as I supposed twins,
they so nearly resembled each other, both in features and habit, and
looked as old as the devil himself and quite as ugly, we desired
entertainment but could hardly get a word out of ’em, till with our
importunity [_urging_], telling them our necessity, etc., they called
the old sophister, who was as sparing of his words as his daughters
had been, and no, or none, was the reply he made us to our demands. He
differed only in this from the old fellow in t’other country: he let
us depart....
Thus leaving this habitation of cruelty, we went forward, and arriving
at an ordinary [_inn_] about two mile further, found tolerable
accommodation. But our hostess, being a pretty full-mouthed old
creature, entertained our fellow traveler, the French doctor, with
innumerable complaints of her bodily infirmities and whispered to him
so loud that all the house had as full a hearing as he, which was very
diverting to the company (of which there was a great many), as one
might see by their sneering. But poor weary I slipped out to enter my
mind in my journal, and left my great landlady with her talkative
guests to themselves....
THE SIXTH DAY
Saturday, October 7
About two o’clock [_in the_] afternoon we arrived at New Haven
[_Connecticut_], where I was received with all possible respects and
civility. Here I discharged Mr. Wheeler with a reward to his
satisfaction and took some time to rest after so long and toilsome a
journey, and informed myself of the manners and customs of the place,
and at the same time employed myself in the affair I went there upon.
They are governed by the same laws as we in Boston (or little
differing) throughout this whole colony of Connecticut, and much the
same way of church government and many of them good, sociable people,
and I hope religious too. But [_they are_] a little too much
independent in their principles, and, as I have been told, were
formerly in their zeal very rigid in their administrations towards
such as their laws made offenders, even to a harmless kiss or innocent
merriment among young people....
Their diversions in this part of the country are on lecture days and
[_militia_] training days mostly. On the former there is riding from
town to town.
And on training days the youth divert themselves by shooting at the
target, as they call it (but it very much resembles a pillory), where
he that hits nearest the white has some yards of red ribbon presented
him, which being tied to his hatband, the two ends streaming down his
back, he is led away in triumph, with great applause, as the winners
of the Olympic Games. They generally marry very young, the males
oftener, as I am told, under twenty than above. They generally make
public weddings and have a way something singular (as they say) in
some of them, namely, just before joining hands the bridegroom quits
the place, who is soon followed by the bridesmen, and as it were,
dragged back to duty—being the reverse to the former practice among
us, to steal his bride....
Being at a merchant’s house, in comes a tall country fellow, with his
alfogeos [_cheeks_] full of tobacco, for they seldom lose their cud
but keep chewing and spitting as long as their eyes are open. He
advanced to the middle of the room, makes an awkward nod, and spitting
a large deal of aromatic tincture, he gave a scrape with his
shovel-like shoe, leaving a small shovel full of dirt on the floor,
made a full stop. Hugging his own pretty body with his hands under his
arms, [_he_] stood staring round him like a cat let out of a basket.
At last, like the creature Balaam rode on [_an ass_], he opened his
mouth and said: “Have you any ribbon for hatbands to sell, I pray?”
The questions and answers about the pay being past, the ribbon is
brought and opened. Bumpkin Simpers cries, “It’s confounded gay, I
vow,” and beckoning to the door, in comes Joan Tawdry, dropping about
50 curtsies, and stands by him. He shows her the ribbon. “Law you,”
says she, “It’s right gent; do you take it; ’tis dreadful pretty.”
Then she inquires: “Have you any hood silk, I pray?” which being
brought and bought, “Have you any thread silk to sew it with,” says
she, which being accommodated with, they departed. They generally
stand, after they come in, a great while speechless and sometimes
don’t say a word till they are asked what they want, which I impute to
the awe they stand in of the merchants, who they are constantly almost
indebted to and must take what they bring without liberty to choose
for themselves; but they serve them as well, making the merchants stay
[_wait_] long enough for their pay.
Life in the South
A century after Jamestown was founded, Virginia was a prosperous,
flourishing colony. The capital was moved a few miles away to
Williamsburg, which today has been rebuilt to look much as it did in
colonial times. Along the James River were large plantations, operated
by gentleman farmers. These men lived much as their land-owning cousins
did in the old country. Lower on the social scale, of course, were white
indentured servants, who had bound themselves to years of labor in
return for their passage to Virginia, and slaves.
William Byrd 1674-1744
The culture of the colony, however, was dominated by prosperous planters
like William Byrd, ancestor of the present Byrd family of Virginia. His
estate occupied the present site of Richmond. He was educated in England
and active in the affairs of the colony.
In 1728, he was appointed to help survey the boundary between North
Carolina and Virginia. The boundary, which was disputed, ran through
virgin forests and over mountains. During the arduous weeks that the
commissioners were making their survey, Byrd kept notes. His account of
this experience is given in _The History of the Dividing Line_. You can
see that Virginia gentlemen did not think much of the poor farmers in
North Carolina.
LIFE IN NORTH CAROLINA
March 25, 1728: Surely there is no place in the world where the
inhabitants live with less labor than in North Carolina. It approaches
nearer to the description of Lubberland [_a mythical land of plenty
and idleness_] than any other, by the great felicity of the climate,
the easiness of raising provisions, and the slothfulness of the
people.
Indian corn is of so great increase that a little pains will subsist a
very large family with bread, and then they may have meat without any
pains at all, by the help of the low grounds, and the great variety of
mast [_nuts_] that grows on the high land. The men, for their parts,
just like the Indians, impose all the work upon the poor women. They
make their wives rise out of their beds early in the morning, at the
same time that they lie and snare till the sun has run one-third of
his course and dispersed all the unwholesome damps. Then, after
stretching and yawning for half an hour, they light their pipes, and,
under the protection of a cloud of smoke, venture out into the open
air, though if it happens to be never so little cold, they quickly
return shivering into the chimney corner. When the weather is mild,
they stand leaning with both their arms upon the cornfield fence, and
gravely consider whether they had best go and take a small heat at the
hoe, but generally find reasons to put it off till another time. Thus
they loiter away their lives....
March 27: Within 3 or 4 miles of Edenton [_North Carolina_], the soil
appears to be a little more fertile, though it is much out with
slashes [_swamps_], which seem all to have a tendency towards the
Dismal.
This town is situate on the north side of Albemarle Sound, which is
there about 5 miles over. A dirty slash runs all along the back of it,
which in the summer is a foul annoyance and furnishes abundance of
that Carolina plague, mosquitoes. There may be 40 or 50 houses, most
of them small and built without expense. A citizen here is counted
extravagant, if he has ambition enough to aspire to a brick chimney.
Justice herself is but indifferently lodged, the court house having
much the air of a common tobacco house. I believe this is the only
metropolis in the Christian or Mohammedan world, where there is
neither church, chapel, mosque, synagogue, or any other place of
public worship of any sect or religion whatsoever.
What little devotion there may happen to be is much more private than
their vices. The people seem easy without a minister, as long as they
are exempted from paying him. Sometimes the society for propagating
the Gospel has had the charity to send over missionaries to this
country; but unfortunately the priest has been too lewd [_worthless_]
for the people, or, which oftener happens, they too lewd for the
priest. For these reasons these reverend gentlemen have always left
their flocks as arrant heathen as they found them. Thus much, however,
may be said for the inhabitants of Edenton, that not a soul has the
least taint of hypocrisy or superstition, acting very frankly and
aboveboard in all their excesses.
Provisions here are extremely cheap and extremely good, so that people
may live plentifully at a trifling expense. Nothing is dear but law,
physic, and strong drink, which are all bad in their kind, and the
last they get with so much difficulty, that they are never guilty of
the sin of suffering it to sour upon their hands. Their vanity
generally lies not so much in having a handsome dining room as a
handsome house of office [_kitchen_]. In this kind of structure they
are really extravagant.
They are rarely guilty of flattering or making any court to their
governors, but treat them with all the excesses of freedom and
familiarity. They are of opinion their rulers would be apt to grow
insolent, if they grew rich, and for that reason take care to keep
them poorer, and more dependent, if possible, than the saints in New
England used to do their governors.
A Virginia planter had many responsibilities and many interests. Besides
growing tobacco and raising livestock, Byrd and his associates made
their plantations as self-sufficient as possible. Late in his life Byrd
visited some mining property he owned in western Virginia, and on the
trip stopped off to see Colonel Spotswood, a former governor of
Virginia. The following account, from _A Progress to the Mines_, gives
us a glimpse of another Virginian’s house. Note, too, how Byrd concerns
himself with collecting medicinal herbs.
A VISIT TO COLONEL SPOTSWOOD
September 27, 1732: I came into the main county road that leads from
Fredericksburg to Germanna, which last place I reached in ten miles
more. This famous town consists of Col. Spotswood’s enchanted castle
on one side of the street and a baker’s dozen of ruinous tenements on
the other.... Here I arrived about three o’clock and found only Mrs.
Spotswood at home, who received her old acquaintance with many a
gracious smile. I was carried into a room elegantly set off with pier
glasses [_full-length mirrors set between windows_] the largest of
which came soon after to an odd misfortune.
Amongst other favorite animals that cheered this lady’s solitude, a
brace of tame deer ran familiarly about the house, and one of them
came to stare at me as a stranger. But unluckily spying his own figure
in the glass, he made a spring over the tea table that stood under it,
and shattered the glass to pieces, and falling back upon the tea
table, made a terrible fracas among the china. This exploit was so
sudden and accompanied with such a noise that it surprised me, and
perfectly frightened Mrs. Spotswood. But ’twas worth all the damage to
show the moderation and good humor with which she bore this disaster.
In the evening the noble colonel came home from his mines, who saluted
me very civilly, and Mrs. Spotswood’s sister, Miss Theky, who had been
to meet him _en cavalier_ [_on horseback_] was so kind too as to bid
me welcome. We talked over a legend [_collection_] of old stories,
supped about 9, and then prattled with the ladies till ’twas time for
a traveler to retire. In the meantime I observed my old friend to be
very uxorious [_submissive to his wife_] and exceedingly fond of his
children. This was so opposite to the maxims he used to preach up
before he was married, that I could not forbear rubbing up the memory
of them. But he gave a very goodnatured turn to his change of
sentiments by alleging that whoever brings a poor gentlewoman into so
solitary a place, from all her friends and acquaintance, would be
ungrateful not to use her and all that belongs to her with all
possible tenderness.
September 28: We all kept snug in our several apartments till nine,
except Miss Theky, who was the housewife of the family. At that hour
we met over a pot of coffee, which was not quite strong enough to give
us the palsy. After breakfast the Colonel and I left the ladies to
their domestic affairs and took a turn in the garden, which has
nothing beautiful but 3 terrace walks that fall in slopes one below
another. I let him understand that besides the pleasure of paying him
a visit, I came to be instructed by so great a master in the mystery
of making of iron, wherein he had led the way....
September 30: The sun rose clear this morning, and so did I and
finished all my little affairs by breakfast. It was then resolved to
wait on the ladies on horseback, since the bright sun, the fine air,
and the wholesome exercise all invited us to it. We forded the river a
little above the ferry and rode 6 miles up the neck to a fine level
piece of rich land where we found about 20 plants of ginseng, with the
scarlet berries growing on the top of the middle stalk. The root of
this is of wonderful virtue in many cases, particularly to raise the
spirits and promote perspiration, which makes it a specific in colds
and coughs. The colonel complimented me with all we found in return
for my telling him the virtues of it. We were all pleased to find so
much of this king of plants so near the colonel’s habitation and
growing too upon his own land.... I carried home this treasure with as
much joy as if every root had been a graft of the Tree of Life, and
washed and dried it carefully.
Life in a City
Benjamin Franklin’s life is too well-known to need summarizing here. The
story of his life should be on the reading list of every American, and
the best account of it is the one he wrote himself. Unfortunately, he
never finished his autobiography, so we do not have in his own words the
story of his diplomatic mission to France during the Revolution, or his
activities in America at the time of the Declaration of Independence and
later during the Constitutional Convention. His early career, however,
is well described. The following selection from the Autobiography tells
of Franklin’s arrival in Philadelphia at the age of 17 after running
away from home in Boston.
From Benjamin Franklin’s _Autobiography_
I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come round by sea.
I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out with shirts
and stockings; I knew no soul nor where to look for lodging. I was
fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want of rest; I was very hungry;
and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar and about a
shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat for my
passage, who at first refused it, on account of my rowing; but I
insisted on their taking it, a man being sometimes more generous when
he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps through
fear of being thought to have but little.
Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till near the market-house
I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker’s he
directed me to, in Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending
such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in
Philadelphia. Then I asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they
had none such. So, not considering or knowing the difference of money,
and the greater cheapness nor the names of his bread, I bade him give
me three-penny-worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great
puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having
no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and
eating the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth
Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife’s father; when
she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went
down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the
way, and, coming round, found myself again at Market Street wharf,
near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river
water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a
woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and
were waiting to go farther.
Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the
Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor
and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and
continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to
rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in,
in Philadelphia.
Walking down again toward the river and looking in the faces of
people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked and
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. “Here,”
says he, “is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I’ll show thee a better.”
He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water Street. Here I got a
dinner; and while I was eating it several sly questions were asked me,
as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance that I might
be some runaway.
After dinner my sleepiness returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay
down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, was called
to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next
morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could and went to Andrew
Bradford the printer’s. I found in the shop the old man his father,
whom I had seen at New York, and who, traveling on horseback, had got
to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received
me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present
want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but there was another
printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who perhaps might employ
me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should
offer.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and
when we found him, “Neighbor,” says Bradford, “I have brought to see
you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one.” He
asked me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how
I worked, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just
then nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford, whom he had never
seen before, to be of the town’s people that had a good will for him,
entered into a conversation on his present undertaking and prospects;
while Bradford, not discovering that he was the other printer’s
father, on Keimer’s saying he expected soon to get the greatest part
of the business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions,
and starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what interest he
relied on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by
and heard all, saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old
sophister, and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer,
who was greatly surprised when I told him who the old man was.
Keimer’s printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shattered press,
and one small, worn-out font of English [_type_], which he was then
using himself, composing an elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an
ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the
town, clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses
too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for
his manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head.
So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the elegy likely to
require all the letters, no one could help him. I endeavored to put
his press (which he had not yet used, and of which he understood
nothing) into order fit to be worked with; and, promising to come and
print off his elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I returned
to Bradford’s, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and
there I lodged and dieted. A few days after, Keimer sent for me to
print off the elegy. And now he had got another pair of cases, and a
pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to work.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business.
Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer,
though something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing
of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets [_a group of
French Protestants known as Camisards, persecuted under Louis XIV_],
and could act their enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not
profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was
very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal
of the knave in his composition. He did not like my lodging at
Bradford’s while I worked with him. He had a house, indeed, but
without furniture, so he could not lodge me; but he got me a lodging
at Mr. Read’s, before mentioned, who was the owner of his house; and,
my chest and clothes being come by this time, I made rather a more
respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read than I had done when
she first happened to see me eating my roll in the street.
I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the
town that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very
pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality, I lived
very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring
that any there should know where I resided.
Franklin was an industrious, ambitious young man who had thoroughly
mastered the trade of printer before leaving Boston. In Philadelphia, he
set up his own printing business and prospered so much that he was able
to retire at the age of 42. The rest of his life he devoted to public
enterprises and to scientific investigation. He was instrumental in
founding a hospital, the academy that became the University of
Pennsylvania, and the American Philosophical Society. He initiated
projects for providing police protection, street lighting, cleaning, and
paving in Philadelphia. He served as postmaster-general for the
colonies, and later represented them in England as events moved toward
the Revolution. One of his many public-spirited projects was the
establishment of a lending library, and in the selection that follows he
tells just how he got the library started.
At the time I established myself in Pennsylvania, there was not a good
bookseller’s shop in any of the colonies to the southward of Boston.
In New York and Philadelphia the printers were indeed stationers; they
sold only paper, etc., almanacs, ballads, and a few common
school-books. Those who loved reading were obliged to send for their
books from England; the members of the Junto [_Franklin’s club_] had
each a few. We had left the alehouse, where we first met, and hired a
room to hold our club in. I proposed that we should all of us bring
our books to that room, where they would not only be ready to consult
in our conferences, but become a common benefit, each of us being at
liberty to borrow such as he wished to read at home. This was
accordingly done, and for some time contented us.
Finding the advantage of this little collection, I proposed to render
the benefit from books more common, by commencing a public
subscription library. I drew a sketch of the plan and rules that would
be necessary, and got a skilful conveyancer, Mr. Charles Brockden, to
put the whole in form of articles of agreement to be subscribed, by
which each subscriber engaged to pay a certain sum down for the first
purchase of books, and an annual contribution for increasing them. So
few were the readers at that time in Philadelphia, and the majority of
us so poor, that I was not able, with great industry, to find more
than fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay down for
this purpose forty shillings each, and ten shillings per annum. [_A
shilling in Franklin’s day was worth perhaps $1.50 in today’s money._]
On this little fund we began. The books were imported; the library was
opened one day in the week for lending to the subscribers, on their
promissory notes to pay double the value if not duly returned. The
institution soon manifested its utility, was imitated by other towns,
and in other provinces. The libraries were augmented by donations;
reading became fashionable; and our people, having no public
amusements to divert their attention from study, became better
acquainted with books, and in a few years were observed by strangers
to be better instructed and more intelligent than people of the same
rank generally are in other countries....
This library afforded me the means of improvement by constant study,
for which I set apart an hour or two each day, and thus repaired in
some degree the loss of the learned education my father once intended
for me. Reading was the only amusement I allowed myself. I spent no
time in taverns, games, or frolics of any kind; and my industry in my
business continued as indefatigable as it was necessary.
[Illustration: A Woman Captured by Indians]
Transcriber’s Notes
--Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected a few palpable typos, leaving period spellings
unchanged.
--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.
--Added subheadings in the text to match entries in the Table of
Contents.
--Added captions to illustrations based on the attributions in front
matter.
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