upon it," said Mr. Eliot, "but for the book itself, rightly taken, and
making allowance for some little heat of discourse and certain hasty
and ill-considered words therein, I have never seen cause to repent.
I quite agree with what my lamented friend and fellow-laborer, Mr.
Danforth, said, when he was told that the king was to be proclaimed at
Boston: 'Whatever form of government may be deduced from Scripture, that
let us yield to for conscience' sake, not forgetting at the same time
that the Apostle hath said, if thou mayest be free use it rather.'"
My uncle said this was well spoken of Mr. Danforth, who was a worthy
gentleman and a true friend to the liberties of the Colony; and he asked
Rebecca to read some ingenious verses writ by him in one of his
almanacs, which she had copied not long ago, wherein he compareth New
England to a goodly tree or plant. Whereupon, Rebecca read them as
followeth:--
"A skilful husbandman he was, who brought
This matchless plant from far, and here hath sought
A place to set it in; and for its sake
The wilderness a pleasant land doth make.
"With pleasant aspect, Phoebus smiles upon
The tender buds and blooms that hang thereon;
At this tree's root Astrea sits and sings,
And waters it, whence upright Justice springs,
Which yearly shoots forth laws and liberties
That no man's will or wit may tyrannize.
Those birds of prey that sometime have oppressed
And stained the country with their filthy nest,
Justice abhors, and one day hopes to find
A way, to make all promise-breakers grind.
On this tree's top hangs pleasant Liberty,
Not seen in Austria, France, Spain, Italy.
True Liberty 's there ripe, where all confess
They may do what they will, save wickedness.
Peace is another fruit which this tree bears,
The chiefest garland that the country wears,
Which o'er all house-tops, towns, and fields doth spread,
And stuffs the pillow for each weary head.
It bloomed in Europe once, but now 't is gone,
And glad to find a desert mansion.
Forsaken Truth, Time's daughter, groweth here,--
More precious fruit what tree did ever bear,--
Whose pleasant sight aloft hath many fed,
And what falls down knocks Error on the head."
After a little time, Rebecca found means to draw the good Mr. Eliot into
some account of his labors and journeys among the Indians, and of their
manner of life, ceremonies, and traditions, telling him that I was a
stranger in these parts, and curious concerning such matters. So he did
address himself to me very kindly, answering such questions as I
ventured to put to him. And first, touching the Powahs, of whom I had
heard much, he said they were manifestly witches, and such as had
familiar spirits; but that, since the Gospel has been preached here,
their power had in a great measure gone from them. "My old friend,
Passaconaway, the Chief of the Merrimac River Indians," said he, "was,
before his happy and marvellous conversion, a noted Powah and wizard.
I once queried with him touching his sorceries, when he said he had done
wickedly, and it was a marvel that the Lord spared his life, and did not
strike him dead with his lightnings. And when I did press him to tell
me how he did become a Powah, he said he liked not to speak of it, but
would nevertheless tell me. His grandmother used to tell him many
things concerning the good and bad spirits, and in a special manner of
the Abomako, or Chepian, who had the form of a serpent, and who was the
cause of sickness and pain, and of all manner of evils. And it so
chanced that on one occasion, when hunting in the wilderness, three
days' journey from home, he did lose his way, and wandered for a long
time without food, and night coming on, he thought he did hear voices of
men talking; but, on drawing near to the place whence the noise came, he
could see nothing but the trees and rocks; and then he did see a light,
as from a wigwam a little way off, but, going towards it, it moved away,
and, following it, he was led into a dismal swamp, full of water, and
snakes, and briers; and being in so sad a plight, be bethought him of
all he had heard of evil demons and of Chepian, who, he doubted not was
the cause of his trouble. At last, coming to a little knoll in the
swamp, he lay down under a hemlock-tree, and being sorely tired, fell
asleep. And he dreamed a dream, which was in this wise:--
"He thought he beheld a great snake crawl up out of the marsh, and stand
upon his tail under a tall maple-tree; and he thought the snake spake to
him, and bade him be of good cheer, for he would guide him safe out of
the swamp, and make of him a great chief and Powah, if he would pray to
him and own him as his god. All which he did promise to do; and when he
awoke in the morning, he beheld before him the maple-tree under which he
had seen the snake in his dream, and, climbing to the top of it, he saw
a great distance off the smoke of a wigwam, towards which he went, and
found some of his own people cooking a plentiful meal of venison. When
he got back to Patucket, he told his dream to his grandmother, who was
greatly rejoiced, and went about from wigwam to wigwam, telling the
tribe that Chepian had appeared to her grandson. So they had a great
feast and dance, and he was thenceforth looked upon as a Powah. Shortly
after, a woman of the tribe falling sick, he was sent for to heal her,
which he did by praying to Chepian and laying his hands upon her; and at
divers other times the Devil helped him in his enchantments and
witcheries."
I asked Mr. Eliot whether he did know of any women who were Powahs.
He confessed he knew none; which was the more strange, as in Christian
countries the Old Serpent did commonly find instruments of his craft
among the women.
To my query as to what notion the heathen had of God and a future state,
he said that, when he did discourse them concerning the great and true
God, who made all things, and of heaven and hell, they would readily
consent thereto, saying that so their fathers had taught them; but when
he spake to them of the destruction of the world by fire, and the
resurrection of the body, they would not hear to it, for they pretend to
hold that the spirit of the dead man goes forthwith, after death, to the
happy hunting-grounds made for good Indians, or to the cold and dreary
swamps and mountains, where the bad Indians do starve and freeze, and
suffer all manner of hardships.
There was, Mr. Eliot told us, a famous Powah, who, coming to Punkapog,
while he was at that Indian town, gave out among the people there that a
little humming-bird did come to him and peck at him when he did aught
that was wrong, and sing sweetly to him when he did a good thing, or
spake the right words; which coming to Mr. Eliot's ear, he made him
confess, in the presence of the congregation, that he did only mean, by
the figure of the bird, the sense he had of right and wrong in his own
mind. This fellow was, moreover, exceeding cunning, and did often ask
questions hard to be answered touching the creation of the Devil, and
the fall of man.
I said to him that I thought it must be a great satisfaction to him to
be permitted to witness the fruit of his long labors and sufferings in
behalf of these people, in the hopeful conversion of so many of them to
the light and knowledge of the Gospel; to which he replied that his poor
labors had been indeed greatly blest, but it was all of the Lord's
doing, and he could truly say he felt, in view of the great wants of
these wild people, and their darkness and misery, that he had by no
means done all his duty towards them. He said also, that whenever he
was in danger of being puffed up with the praise of men, or the vanity
of his own heart, the Lord had seen meet to abase and humble him, by the
falling back of some of his people to their old heathenish practices.
The war, moreover, was a sore evil to the Indian churches, as some few
of their number were enticed by Philip to join him in his burnings and
slaughterings, and this did cause even the peaceful and innocent to be
vehemently suspected and cried out against as deceivers and murderers.
Poor, unoffending old men, and pious women, had been shot at and killed
by our soldiers, their wigwams burned, their families scattered, and
driven to seek shelter with the enemy; yea, many Christian Indians, he
did believe, had been sold as slaves to the Barbadoes, which he did
account a great sin, and a reproach to our people. Major Gookins said
that a better feeling towards the Indians did now prevail among the
people; the time having been when, because of his friendliness to them,
and his condemnation of their oppressors, he was cried out against and
stoned in the streets, to the great hazard of his life.
So, after some further discourse, our guests left us, Mr. Eliot kindly
inviting me to visit his Indian congregation near Boston, whereby I
could judge for myself of their condition.
February 22, 1679.
The weather suddenly changing from a warm rain and mist to sharp, clear
cold, the trees a little way from the house did last evening so shine
with a wonderful brightness in the light of the moon, now nigh unto its
full, that I was fain to go out upon the hill-top to admire them. And
truly it was no mean sight to behold every small twig becrusted with
ice, and glittering famously like silver-work or crystal, as the rays of
the moon did strike upon them. Moreover, the earth was covered with
frozen snow, smooth and hard like to marble, through which the long
rushes, the hazels, and mulleins, and the dry blades of the grasses, did
stand up bravely, bedight with frost. And, looking upward, there were
the dark tops of the evergreen trees, such as hemlocks, pines, and
spruces, starred and bespangled, as if wetted with a great rain of
molten crystal. After admiring and marvelling at this rare
entertainment and show of Nature, I said it did mind me of what the
Spaniards and Portuguese relate of the great Incas of Guiana, who had a
garden of pleasure in the Isle of Puna, whither they were wont to betake
themselves when they would enjoy the air of the sea, in which they had
all manner of herbs and flowers, and trees curiously fashioned of gold
and silver, and so burnished that their exceeding brightness did dazzle
the eyes of the beholders.
"Nay," said the worthy Mr. Mather, who did go with us, "it should
rather, methinks, call to mind what the Revelator hath said of the Holy
City. I never look upon such a wonderful display of the natural world
without remembering the description of the glory of that city which
descended out of heaven from God, having the glory of God, and her light
like unto a stone most precious, even like unto a jasper stone, clear as
crystal. And the building of the wall of it was of jasper, and the city
was pure gold like unto clear glass. And the twelve gates were twelve
pearls, every several gate was of one pearl, and the street of the city
was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.
"There never was a king's palace lighted up and adorned like this,"
continued Mr. Mather, as we went homewards. "It seemeth to be Gods
design to show how that He can glorify himself in the work of His hands,
even at this season of darkness and death, when all things are sealed
up, and there be no flowers, nor leaves, nor ruining brooks, to speak of
His goodness and sing forth His praises. Truly hath it been said, Great
things doeth He, which we cannot comprehend. For He saith to the snow,
Be thou on the earth; likewise to the small rain and the great rain of
His strength. He sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men may
know His work. Then the beasts go into their dens, and they remain in
their places. Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, and cold out of
the north. By the breath of God is the frost given, and the breadth of
the waters straitened."
March 10.
I have been now for many days afflicted with a great cold and pleurisy,
although, by God's blessing on the means used, I am wellnigh free from
pain, and much relieved, also, from a tedious cough. In this sickness I
have not missed the company and kind ministering of my dear Cousin
Rebecca, which was indeed a great comfort. She tells me to-day that the
time hath been fixed upon for her marriage with Sir Thomas, which did
not a little rejoice me, as I am to go back to mine own country in their
company. I long exceedingly to see once again the dear friends from whom
I have been separated by many months of time and a great ocean.
Cousin Torrey, of Weymouth, coming in yesterday, brought with her a very
bright and pretty Indian girl, one of Mr. Eliot's flock, of the Natick
people. She was apparelled after the English manner, save that she wore
leggings, called moccasins, in the stead of shoes, wrought over daintily
with the quills of an animal called a porcupine, and hung about with
small black and white shells. Her hair, which was exceeding long and
black, hung straight down her back, and was parted from her forehead,
and held fast by means of a strip of birch back, wrought with quills and
feathers, which did encircle her head. She speaks the English well, and
can write somewhat, as well as read. Rebecca, for my amusement, did
query much with her regarding the praying Indians; and on her desiring
to know whether they did in no wise return to their old practices and
worships, Wauwoonemeen (for so she was called by her people) told us
that they did still hold their Keutikaw, or Dance for the Dead; and
that the ministers, although they did not fail to discourage it, had not
forbidden it altogether, inasmuch as it was but a civil custom of the
people, and not a religious rite. This dance did usually take place at
the end of twelve moons after the death of one of their number, and
finished the mourning. The guests invited bring presents to the
bereaved family, of wampum, beaver-skins, corn, and ground-nuts, and
venison. These presents are delivered to a speaker, appointed for the
purpose, who takes them, one by one, and hands them over to the
mourners, with a speech entreating them to be consoled by these tokens
of the love of their neighbors, and to forget their sorrows. After
which, they sit down to eat, and are merry together.
Now it had so chanced that at a Keutikaw held the present winter, two
men had been taken ill, and had died the next day; and although Mr.
Eliot, when he was told of it, laid the blame thereof upon their hard
dancing until they were in a great heat, and then running out into the
snow and sharp air to cool themselves, it was thought by many that they
were foully dealt with and poisoned. So two noted old Powahs from
Wauhktukook, on the great river Connecticut, were sent for to discover
the murderers. Then these poor heathen got together in a great wigwam,
where the old wizards undertook, by their spells and incantations, to
consult the invisible powers in the matter. I asked Wauwoonemeen if she
knew how they did practise on the occasion; whereupon she said that none
but men were allowed to be in the wigwam, but that she could hear the
beating of sticks on the ground, and the groans and howlings and dismal
mutterings of the Powahs, and that she, with another young woman,
venturing to peep through a hole in the back of the wigwam, saw a great
many people sitting on the ground, and the two Powahs before the fire,
jumping and smiting their breasts, and rolling their eyes very
frightfully.
"But what came of it?" asked Rebecca. "Did the Evil Spirit whom they
thus called upon testify against himself, by telling who were his
instruments in mischief?"
The girl said she had never heard of any discovery of the poisoners, if
indeed there were such. She told us, moreover, that many of the best
people in the tribe would have no part in the business, counting it
sinful; and that the chief actors were much censured by the ministers,
and so ashamed of it that they drove the Powahs out of the village, the
women and boys chasing them and beating them with sticks and frozen
snow, so that they had to take to the woods in a sorry plight.
We gave the girl some small trinkets, and a fair piece of cloth for an
apron, whereat she was greatly pleased. We were all charmed with her
good parts, sweetness of countenance, and discourse and ready wit, being
satisfied thereby that Nature knoweth no difference between Europe and
America in blood, birth, and bodies, as we read in Acts 17 that God hath
made of one blood all mankind. I was specially minded of a saying of
that ingenious but schismatic man, Mr. Roger Williams, in the little
book which he put forth in England on the Indian tongue:--
"Boast not, proud English, of thy birth and blood,
Thy brother Indian is by birth as good;
Of one blood God made him and thee and all,
As wise, as fair, as strong, as personal.
"By nature wrath's his portion, thine, no more,
Till grace his soul and thine in Christ restore.
Make sure thy second birth, else thou shalt see
Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee!"
March 15.
One Master O'Shane, an Irish scholar, of whom my cousins here did learn
the Latin tongue, coming in last evening, and finding Rebecca and I
alone (uncle and aunt being on a visit to Mr. Atkinson's), was exceeding
merry, entertaining us rarely with his stories and songs. Rebecca tells
me he is a learned man, as I can well believe, but that he is too fond
of strong drink for his good, having thereby lost the favor of many of
the first families here, who did formerly employ him. There was one
ballad, which he saith is of his own making, concerning the selling of
the daughter of a great Irish lord as a slave in this land, which
greatly pleased me; and on my asking for a copy of it, he brought it to
me this morning, in a fair hand. I copy it in my Journal, as I know
that Oliver, who is curious in such things, will like it.
KATHLEEN.
O NORAH, lay your basket down,
And rest your weary hand,
And come and hear me sing a song
Of our old Ireland.
There was a lord of Galaway,
A mighty lord was he;
And he did wed a second wife,
A maid of low degree.
But he was old, and she was young,
And so, in evil spite,
She baked the black bread for his kin,
And fed her own with white.
She whipped the maids and starved the kern,
And drove away the poor;
"Ah, woe is me!" the old lord said,
"I rue my bargain sore!"
This lord he had a daughter fair,
Beloved of old and young,
And nightly round the shealing-fires
Of her the gleeman sung.
"As sweet and good is young Kathleen
As Eve before her fall;"
So sang the harper at the fair,
So harped he in the hall.
"Oh, come to me, my daughter dear!
Come sit upon my knee,
For looking in your face, Kathleen,
Your mother's own I see!"
He smoothed and smoothed her hair away,
He kissed her forehead fair;
"It is my darling Mary's brow,
It is my darling's hair!"
Oh, then spake up the angry dame,
"Get up, get up," quoth she,
"I'll sell ye over Ireland,
I'll sell ye o'er the sea!"
She clipped her glossy hair away,
That none her rank might know;
She took away her gown of silk,
And gave her one of tow,
And sent her down to Limerick town
And to a seaman sold
This daughter of an Irish lord
For ten good pounds in gold.
The lord he smote upon his breast,
And tore his beard so gray;
But he was old, and she was young,
And so she had her way.
Sure that same night the Banshee howled
To fright the evil dame,
And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen,
With funeral torches came.
She watched them glancing through the trees,
And glimmering down the hill;
They crept before the dead-vault door,
And there they all stood still!
"Get up, old man! the wake-lights shine!"
"Ye murthering witch," quoth he,
"So I'm rid of your tongue, I little care
If they shine for you or me."
"Oh, whoso brings my daughter back,
My gold and land shall have!"
Oh, then spake up his handsome page,
"No gold nor land I crave!
"But give to me your daughter dear,
Give sweet Kathleen to me,
Be she on sea or be she on land,
I'll bring her back to thee."
"My daughter is a lady born,
And you of low degree,
But she shall be your bride the day
You bring her back to me."
He sailed east, he sailed west,
And far and long sailed he,
Until he came to Boston town,
Across the great salt sea.
"Oh, have ye seen the young Kathleen,
The flower of Ireland?
Ye'll know her by her eyes so blue,
And by her snow-white hand!"
Out spake an ancient man, "I know
The maiden whom ye mean;
I bought her of a Limerick man,
And she is called Kathleen.
"No skill hath she in household work,
Her hands are soft and white,
Yet well by loving looks and ways
She doth her cost requite."
So up they walked through Boston town,
And met a maiden fair,
A little basket on her arm
So snowy-white and bare.
"Come hither, child, and say hast thou
This young man ever seen?"
They wept within each other's arms,
The page and young Kathleen.
"Oh give to me this darling child,
And take my purse of gold."
"Nay, not by me," her master said,
"Shall sweet Kathleen be sold.
"We loved her in the place of one
The Lord hath early ta'en;
But, since her heart's in Ireland,
We give her back again!"
Oh, for that same the saints in heaven
For his poor soul shall pray,
And Mary Mother wash with tears
His heresies away.
Sure now they dwell in Ireland;
As you go up Claremore
Ye'll see their castle looking down
The pleasant Galway shore.
And the old lord's wife is dead and gone,
And a happy man is he,
For he sits beside his own Kathleen,
With her darling on his knee.
1849.
March 27, 1679.
Spent the afternoon and evening yesterday at Mr. Mather's, with uncle
and aunt, Rebecca and Sir Thomas, and Mr. Torrey of Weymouth, and his
wife; Mr. Thacher, the minister of the South Meeting, and Major Simon
Willard of Concord, being present also. There was much discourse of
certain Antinomians, whose loose and scandalous teachings in respect to
works were strongly condemned, although Mr. Thacher thought there might
be danger, on the other hand, of falling into the error of the
Socinians, who lay such stress upon works, that they do not scruple to
undervalue and make light of faith. Mr. Torrey told of some of the
Antinomians, who, being guilty of scandalous sins, did nevertheless
justify themselves, and plead that they were no longer under the law.
Sir Thomas drew Rebecca and I into a corner of the room, saying he was
a-weary of so much disputation, and began relating somewhat which befell
him in a late visit to the New Haven people. Among other things, he
told us that while he was there, a maid of nineteen years was put upon
trial for her life, by complaint of her parents of disobedience of their
commands, and reviling them; that at first the mother of the girl did
seem to testify strongly against her; but when she had spoken a few
words, the accused crying out with a bitter lamentation, that she should
be destroyed in her youth by the words of her own mother, the woman did
so soften her testimony that the Court, being in doubt upon the matter,
had a consultation with the ministers present, as to whether the accused
girl had made herself justly liable to the punishment prescribed for
stubborn and rebellious children in Deut. xxi. 20, 21. It was thought
that this law did apply specially unto a rebellious son, according to
the words of the text, and that a daughter could not be put to death
under it; to which the Court did assent, and the girl, after being
admonished, was set free. Thereupon, Sir Thomas told us, she ran
sobbing into the arms of her mother, who did rejoice over her as one
raised from the dead, and did moreover mightily blame herself for
putting her in so great peril, by complaining of her disobedience
to the magistrates.