THE RESTORATION.
In the month of May, 1660, England was almost mad with joy because
Charles II. was restored to the throne. In London, “groups of
royalists,” we are told, “gathered round buckets of wine in the streets,
and drank the king’s health on their knees. The bells of every steeple
rang, and bonfires were so numerous that the city seemed surrounded by a
halo; men shouted, women scattered flowers, and with loud thanks to
Heaven, as if he had been an angel sent down from God, Charles II. was
received at Whitehall, where so lately the tragedy of fallen royality
had been enacted.”
Republicanism was at an end; and the stern virtues of puritanism gone
quite out of fashion. The season of violent reaction was come; and again
the noblest blood in England, _noblest_ in the truest sense of the word,
flowed from the hands of the executioner. Amongst the earliest victims
was Hugh Peters, the successor of Roger Williams as minister at Salem.
His arraignment, trial, and execution were scenes of wanton cruelty. Any
trial indeed was a mockery, because his death was already decreed. “Go
home to New England, and trust God there,” were his last words to his
daughter, the wife of the younger Winthrop. At the gallows he was
compelled to wait while his friend Cooke, who had just been executed,
was cut down. “How do you like this?” asked the savage hangman,
exultingly. “I thank God,” replied Peters, “that I am not terrified at
it. You may do your worst;” and turning to his friends he said, with a
smile, “Weep not for me; my heart is full of comfort.” Several of the
regicides perished about the same time, with equal calmness and
resignation, their faith in the principles which brought them to the
scaffold no whit abated. Three of the regicide judges, however, Whalley,
Goffe, and Dixwell, of whom we shall speak presently, fled to New
England. Nor did the thirst of English vengeance satisfy itself with the
execution of the living; it wreaked itself on the dead. The corpses of
Cromwell, Bradshaw and Ireton were disinterred, dragged on hurdles to
Tyburn, and hanged on three separate gallows, after which they were cut
down and beheaded! The whole horrible and disgusting scene being
considered one of great merriment.
In June, 1662, perished also on the scaffold the noblest of the
advocates of liberty in the New World, Sir Henry Vane, the former
governor of Massachusetts, the firm friend of Rhode Island, and the
supporter of liberty under all circumstances, whether religious or
political. One of the first and fastest friends of republicanism in
England, he had resisted the aggressions of Cromwell, and Cromwell for
this cause had imprisoned him. The trial of Vane has become a noble
passage in history. Though a man of a nervous temperament, he stood
before his judges with an undaunted courage which amazed all, and there
pleaded “for the liberties of England, for the interest of all posterity
in time to come.” Counsel was not allowed him, and he stood, “not
afraid,” as he said, “in that great presence, to bear witness to the
glorious cause, nor to seal it with his blood.”
“Sir Henry Vane is too dangerous a man to let live, if we can honestly
put him out of the way,” wrote the king to his counsel; and though they
could not _honestly_ put him out of the way, yet they sentenced him to
the block, while others were hanged.
When, on the day before his execution, his friends were admitted to
visit him, they found him so serene and cheerful, that he, not they,
administered consolation, “reasoning calmly on death and immortality.”
Reviewing his political career from the day when he had defended in New
England the unitarianism of Anne Hutchinson, to his last struggle for
English liberty, he said, “I feel not the least recoil in my heart for
what I have done.” When his children gathered round him weeping, he
said, kissing and embracing them, “The Lord will be a better father to
you than I have been. Be not troubled, for I am going home to my
father;” and his last words to them were, “Suffer anything rather than
sin against God.” To his friends he said, “I leave my life as a seal to
the justness of that quarrel. Ten thousand deaths rather than defile the
chastity of my conscience; nor would I for a thousand worlds resign the
peace and satisfaction which I have in my heart!”
As he went to execution, prayers and tears accompanied him. So great was
the public sympathy, that people cried, “God be with you!” On the
scaffold it was his wish to address the vast multitude assembled to
witness his death, but trumpets overpowered his voice, and finding it
vain to make the attempt, he turned to his friends, reminding them that
he had foretold the dark clouds which were coming thicker and thicker
for a season, but that a better day would dawn in the clouds; and baring
his neck for the axe, he exclaimed: “Blessed be God, I have kept a
conscience void of offence; to this day I have not deserted the
righteous cause for which I suffer.” Thus perished Sir Henry Vane; his
death establishing the great principle of popular liberty, even more
than his life had done. The blood of the martyr never flows in vain.
The ship that conveyed to Boston, in July, the first news of the
Restoration, brought with it Whalley and Goffe, two of the regicide
judges of Charles II., who now naturally fled to the only portion of the
English territories where republicanism might still be tolerated. They
were well received by Endicott, the governor, and the tidings which they
brought being hardly credited, excited but little attention. Nor was it
till the month of November that official information of this great event
arrived; of the act of indemnity for all except such as were concerned
in the death of Charles I.; of the execution of Peters, and the
imprisonment of Vane, together with the information that many complaints
of persecution and misdemeanours against the colony were received by
parliament and the crown.
More unwelcome tidings could hardly have reached Massachusetts; and yet,
a general court being summoned, addresses were prepared to the restored
monarch very little creditable to the independence and manliness of the
colony. They spoke of the execution of Charles very vaguely, and
apologetically represented themselves as “his present majesty’s poor
Mephibosheths, by reason of lameness in respect of distance, not until
now appearing in his presence, kneeling with the rest of his subjects
before his majesty as their restored king. They prayed for a
continuance, however, of civil and religious liberties; and as regarded
the complaints which had been brought against them, they besought the
king that he would not hear men’s words, for that his servants were true
men, fearing God and the king.” At the same time that this cringing
address, and another in the same spirit to parliament, were sent,
letters were written to the now aged Lord Say and Seal, and other
puritan noblemen who might be supposed to have interest with the new
government, to bespeak their favour.
Much more creditable than these addresses was the conduct of New England
with regard to the fugitive regicides. Before a royal order for their
arrest reached Boston, by the hands of a party of royalists, which
Massachusetts was required to execute, the offenders had escaped to New
Haven. The magistrates assumed an appearance of assiduity, and published
a proclamation against them, but no intention existed of giving them up.
They were safe, and shortly afterwards were joined by Dixwell, another
of the regicide judges; and, spite of all the efforts that were made to
arrest them, all three finished their days in New England. Dixwell lived
openly, under a feigned name, at New Haven; and the other two in
concealment, sometimes in Massachusetts, at other times in Connecticut.
It was not long before New England perceived that they had no reason to
congratulate themselves on the altered government in the mother-country.
The commercial restrictions from which they had been exempt during the
Commonwealth were now renewed; and with some return to their former
independence, the general court and elders drew up a clear declaration
of what they considered to be their rights. These they asserted to be,
“to choose their own governor, deputy-governor, and representatives; to
admit freemen on terms to be prescribed at their own pleasure; to set up
all sorts of officers, superior and inferior, with such powers and
duties as they might appoint; to exercise, by their annually-elected
magistrates and deputies, all authority legislative, executive and
judicial; to defend themselves by force of arms against any aggression;
and to reject any and every imposition which they might judge
prejudicial to the colony, and contrary to any just act of colonial
legislation.”
This declaration, which left but small prerogative to the crown, and
which asserted the navigation act to be an infringement of their
charter, was drawn up before Charles II. was publicly proclaimed in New
England, nearly twelve months after the news had first reached them, and
then all demonstrations of extravagant joy were prohibited; the king’s
health was not even allowed to be drunk. The colonies of Plymouth,
Hartford, New Haven and Rhode Island, had, on the contrary, immediately
proclaimed the king.
Connecticut, in the person of the younger Winthrop, then in London,
applied for and obtained a favourable charter; the colonists having
beforehand carefully drawn up the document, which they desired the king
to ratify, claiming the land by purchase from the natives—by conquest
from the Pequods, who had made on them a war of extermination—and by the
sweat of their own brows, which had changed the wilderness into a
garden. Their petition for this charter was not only seconded by the
aged Lord Say and Seal, who obtained for it also the co-operation of the
Earl of Manchester, but Winthrop, himself a man of the noblest
endowments, at once a scholar, a gentleman and a Christian, won for it
general good will by his merits alone. The son-in-law of Hugh Peters,
whose execution had so lately taken place, “God gave him, nevertheless,
favour,” as his own father Governor Winthrop, truly observed, “in the
eyes of all with whom he had to do;” and in his interviews with Charles,
whether it was by the charm of his conversation, his descriptions of
Indian warfare, and the adventurous life in the wilderness; or whether,
really, as was said, Winthrop presented a ring to the monarch, which had
been given, under peculiar circumstances, by Charles I. to Winthrop’s
grandfather, which constituted a claim on the house of Stuart, is not
known; this, however, is a fact, the charter was obtained. Clarendon was
full of good will, and certain courtiers, having themselves, it is
believed, interested views, recommended no limitations. This charter
embraced as one colony New Haven and Hartford, the limits of the latter
being extended from the Narragansett river to the Pacific Ocean. On the
colonists it conferred unqualified power to govern themselves; to elect
their own officers; to enact their own laws; to administer justice; to
exercise all power deliberative and executive, without appeal to
England, or without reference to England under any circumstances.
Connecticut was independent in everything but name.
“After his successful negociation and efficient concert in founding the
Royal Society,” says Bancroft, “Winthrop returned to America, bringing
with him a name which England honoured, and which his country should
never forget, and resumed his tranquil life in rural retirement.” Some
little trouble he at first met with from the two colonies being
amalgamated, without the consent of New Haven to such a measure being
first obtained. New Haven, which seemed thus compelled to sink its own
existence in that of the stronger sister-colony, very naturally made
some opposition, but the wisdom and firm gentleness of Winthrop effected
a reconciliation; the colonies were united as by a happy marriage, and
thenceforth but one interest swayed the two. Connecticut showed her
respect and affection for Winthrop, by annually electing him for
fourteen consecutive years as her governor.
The result of this ample charter, this liberty of self-government, was a
social condition so nearly approaching to the Utopia of philosophers,
and the golden age of the poets, that we must be allowed to dwell
somewhat at length upon the beautiful and refreshing picture. It stands
almost alone in the history of man. The institutions of Connecticut
being almost perfected by this charter, nearly a century elapsed before
any event took place which demands the historian’s notice. But its
progress during this time was of healthy increase, its population
doubled every twenty years, and its history was a picture of colonial
happiness and prosperity. “To describe its condition,” says Bancroft,
“is but to enumerate the blessings of self-government by a community of
farmers who have leisure to reflect, who cherish education, and who have
neither a nobility nor a populace. Could Charles II. have looked back
upon earth, and seen what security his gift of a charter had conferred,
he might have gloried in an act which redeemed his life from the charge
of having been unproductive of public happiness. The contentment of
Connecticut was full to the brim.”
Connecticut and Rhode Island were examples of what a truly Christian
commonwealth may become; greater than the Pilgrim states, because they
understood and practised the milder Christian virtues of forbearance and
love. Persecution had no home in these states. Roger Williams was ever a
welcome guest at Hartford, and “that heavenly man,” John Haynes, at
Providence. “I think, Mr. Williams,” said this modern St. John,
addressing his Christian brother, “that the most wise God hath provided
and cut out this part of the world as a refuge and receptacle for all
sorts of consciences.” Happy Connecticut! “No enemy,” we are told, “was
within her borders, tranquillity was within her gates, and the fear of
God within her heart.” Nor was this a mere poetical image; for many
years the public security was so great, that locks and bolts were
unknown; the best house had no firmer fastening to its doors than a
simple latch.
At the risk of dwelling, perhaps, a little too long on this portion of
our history, we must give a picture of life which is as quaint and
beautiful as any Arcadian poem that ever was written.
“There were neither rich nor poor in the land, but all had enough. There
was venison on the hills, abundant fish in the rivers, and sugar was
gathered from the maple of the forest. The soil was originally justly
divided, or held faithfully in trust for the public, and for new-comers.
Happiness was enjoyed unconsciously; like sound health, it was the
condition of a pure and simple life. There was for a long time hardly a
lawyer in the land. The husbandman who held his own plough, and fed his
own cattle, was the great man of the age; nor was any one superior to
the matron, who, with her busy daughters, kept the hum of the wheel
incessantly alive, spinning and weaving every article of dress. Fashion
was confined within narrow limits; and pride, which aimed at no grander
equipage than a pillion, exulted only in the common splendour of the
blue and white linen gown with sleeves reaching to the elbow, and the
snow-white flaxen apron, which, primly starched and ironed, was worn on
public days by every woman of the land. The time of sowing and the time
of reaping marked the progress of the year; and the plain dress of the
working day and the more trim attire of the Sabbath, the progress of the
week.
“Every family was taught to look up to God, as the fountain of all good.
Yet life was not sombre; the spirit of frolic mingled with innocence;
religion itself assumed a garb of gaiety, and the annual thanksgiving
was as joyous as it was sincere. Frugality was the rule of life, both
private and public. Half a century after the concession of the charter,
the annual expenses of government did not exceed £800.
“Education was always regarded as an object of deepest concern, and
common schools existed from the first. A small college was early
established, and Yale owes its birth to ten worthy fathers, who in 1700
assembled at Branford, and each one laying a few volumes on a table,
said, ‘I give these books for the founding of a college in this colony.’
“Political education was a natural consequence of the constitution.
Every inhabitant was a citizen, and every citizen, irrespective of
wealth, condition, or any other circumstance, was possessed of the
franchise. When, therefore, the progress of society and of events
furnished a wider field of action than mere local politics afforded, the
public mind was found equal to its circumstances; emerging then from the
quiet of its origin into scenes where a new political world was to be
created, the sagacity which had regulated the affairs of the village,
gained admiration in the field and the council.”[5]
Rhode Island, as well as Connecticut, received a charter of the most
liberal character from Charles. Ever the advocate of the enfranchisement
of the mind, they had pleaded, in 1658, with the English Commonwealth,
“that they might not be compelled to exercise any civil power over men’s
consciences, which,” urged they, “we judge no less than a point of
absolute cruelty;” and again, addressing the restored monarch, they
besought that they might be enabled “to hold forth a lively experiment
that a most flourishing civil state may stand, and best be maintained,
with a full liberty of religious concernments.” And Charles listened to
their request; and Clarendon himself seconded it, and that noble
charter, more liberal even than that of Connecticut, was granted, which
Roger Williams says, “startled his majesty’s high officers of state,
who, against their will, signed it, fearing the lion’s roaring.” And
Rhode Island, as Roger Williams had prayed might be the case, became a
secure home for liberty of conscience. “No person within the said
colony,” it was enacted, “at any time hereafter shall be anywise
molested, punished, disquieted, or called in question for any
differences in opinion in matters of religion; but that all and every
person may at all times hereafter freely and fully have and enjoy his
and their own judgments and consciences, in matters of religious
concernments.” There was no restriction here as regarded Jesuits or
Pagans; the spirit of this charter was broader even than that of
Maryland, which, disregarding distinction of sect and party, still
required belief in Christ. It is a grand lesson to the narrowsouled
religionist, whether he be Episcopalian or Calvinist, who deals
damnation freely to all who differ from him, that in two states, the one
founded by a Catholic, the other by the holders of every kind of heresy,
the noblest principles of Christianity, _forbearance_ and _love_, were
alone acknowledged as the true foundations of religion.
[Illustration: BAXTER PRESENTING THE CHARTER OF RHODE ISLAND.]
The liberty thus granted, spite of the assertion that quakerism fled
from the Rhode Island colony because it was tolerated there, caused
quakerism to have there its first home in the New World. Governor
Coddington joined the society and died a member of it. The yearly
meeting of the Quakers was held at his house till his death; and the
first meeting-house of that body was built at Newport, on Rhode Island.
George Fox himself, in 1672, visited his “Friends” there, and committed
to them “the firm support of the good of the people.” The creative power
of good in the colony he declared to be the instruction of all the
people in their rights; “you are the unworthiest men upon earth,” added
he, “if you do lose the liberty wherewith Christ hath made you free in
life and glory,”—for he and his early Friends regarded Christianity,
taken in its own broad and catholic spirit, as the great emancipator of
the human race.
The joy of the colonists, on receiving their noble charter, was extreme.
George Baxter—could it be the same who was so active among the
revolutionists of New Amsterdam?—arrived with it on the 24th of
November, 1663, and the whole body of the people gathered together for
its solemn reception. “The letters of the agent were opened, and read
with good delivery and attention; then the charter was taken forth, from
the precious box that held it, and was read by Baxter, in the audience
and view of all the people; and the letters, with his Majesty’s royal
stamp and broad seal, with much becoming gravity were held up on high,
and presented to the perfect view of the people.”
When the gifted sons and daughters of America begin to express their
patriotism and national pride by means of the fine arts, this noble
incident will inspire a patriot artist. The scene itself, on the shores
of a beautiful island; the great sea beyond; and the congregated people,
“a very great meeting and assembly,” men, women, and children beholding,
with deep emotion, the upheld charter, with the broad seals, that
insured to them those sacred liberties which were dear to them as life.
A more beautiful subject could scarcely be found; and yet American
history abounds with many such. One day they must of necessity become
eloquent through the arts.
As regards the other states, the effect of the Restoration was not so
favourable. In Maryland, as we already know, the claim of Lord Baltimore
being confirmed, a temporary tranquillity was established throughout the
state. Virginia was less fortunate, though she had been the most loyal
of all the states; and though her homes had opened themselves to the
exiled royalists, many of whom were now established on her soil. In
April, 1661, Sir William Berkeley, the governor, embarked for England as
agent for Virginia to obtain relief from the Navigation Act, which
office he very unworthily performed. Instead of favour, instead of the
repeal of onerous laws imposed by the Commonwealth, commercial
restrictions were multiplied, and the reward of loyalty was
dismemberment among greedy courtiers. But to this we shall return in the
order of date.
As regards New Hampshire and Maine, we have already stated that Charles
conferred upon his brother, the Duke of York, the country between the
Pemaquid and the St. Croix; yet the proprietary claims of these
provinces were revived with the intention of obtaining them for the Duke
of Monmouth, and the fine extent of country from Connecticut River to
Delaware Bay, then partly in possession of the Dutch, and partly
included in Winthrop’s patent, was also given to the Duke of York. We
now return to Massachusetts.