great a failure in Georgia as in Carolina; but rice soon became one
of the staples of the colony, and the first fine cotton was raised
there from seed brought from India. Oglethorpe, wishing to give his
colony a good start, said that neither rum nor slaves should be
allowed within its limits. But some of his colonists were displeased
at this, although both Oglethorpe and John Wesley--the founder of
the Methodist Church--tried to convince them that they would be far
better off if they did their own work and kept sober. Shortly after
the visit of the Wesley brothers, White´field also came out to visit
the Georgia colony, where he supported the first orphan asylum built
in our country.
In 1739, war having broken out between England and Spain, Oglethorpe
led a small army of Georgians into Florida, to besiege St.
Augustine. To punish the Georgians for this attempt to take their
city, the Spaniards invaded their land three years later, but only
to be defeated at the battle of Fred-er-i´ca. When these troubles
came to an end, Oglethorpe went back to England. But even before his
departure people began to change the laws, and in a few years they
introduced both rum and slavery. Although Oglethorpe gave up Georgia
to the king in 1752, he took a great interest in the settlement he
had founded, and as he lived to be very old, he saw it join the
other colonies in 1776, for it was one of the famous thirteen.
XLV. CHARTER OAK.
After King Philip's War was over in New England, Charles II. turned
his attention to the colony of Massachusetts Bay, where four things
did not suit him. The Navigation Law, which applied to all the
colonies, was not kept in Massachusetts; there were many quarrels
between that colony and the settlements in Maine; Massachusetts
would not have an Episcopal church; and it had coined money. To
punish the colony for these things, Charles took away its charter
(1679), and said that thereafter New Hampshire should form a
separate royal province.
The Massachusetts people were, of course, angry at being deprived
of their charter; still, they managed to keep the money they had
minted. These coins bore on one side a rudely stamped pine tree.
Charles having asked to see one of them, the man who showed it to
him carefully explained that the picture represented the Royal Oak,
whose branches had concealed the king when Cromwell's soldiers were
seeking for him. This clever explanation so amused the merry monarch
that he allowed Massachusetts to retain its "pine-tree shillings."
We are also told that the mint master was allowed a certain number
of these coins as pay. When his daughter married, he made her sit
down in one scale, filled the other with "pine-tree shillings"
till the scales balanced, and gave her with this dowry to his new
son-in-law, telling him he now had a wife who was really worth her
weight in silver.
When James II. came to the throne, he sent Governor An´dros to rule
over New England and New York. This man, wishing to make sure all
the power would be in his hands, tried to get hold of the charters
of the colonies. But when he asked the people of Rhode Island to
give up theirs, they gravely answered they did not have any.
[Illustration: The Charter Oak.]
Next, he went to Hartford and asked the Connecticut Assembly to
surrender their charter. The people, unwilling to give it up,
argued about the matter until it grew so dark that candles had to
be brought into the room. Seeing that the governor would yet compel
them to obey his orders, a patriot, Captain Wadsworth, suddenly
flung his cloak over the candles, and taking advantage of the
darkness and confusion, seized the charter, which he cleverly hid in
a hollow oak. This tree stood in Hartford until 1856, when it blew
down; but the spot where the Charter Oak once stood is now marked by
a monument.
As there were no matches in those days, it took time to relight the
candles; but as soon as that was done, Andros again demanded the
charter. No trace of it could now be found. Andros, in a rage, then
called for the record books of the colony, and writing _Finis_ ("The
End") at the bottom of the page, declared he would rule Connecticut
without any charter at all.
He next proceeded to Boston, where he made the people equally angry
by insisting upon holding Episcopal services in the Old South
Church, by laying extra taxes upon them to pay for the building
of a fine new chapel, and by trying to assume all the power. His
tyrannical ways finally made the Bostonians so indignant that they
put him in prison.
Some of the governor's friends, who were called Tories, because they
sided with the king, now tried to rescue him. They cleverly smuggled
women's garments into the prison, and Governor Andros, dressed like
a lady, would have gotten out of prison safely had not his big feet
roused the suspicions of the guard. Shortly after, he was sent to
England to be tried, and although he later governed Virginia, he
never came back to New England. His master, James II., being as much
disliked in England as Andros was in the colonies, had meanwhile
been driven out of the country, where his son-in-law and daughter,
William and Mary, came to reign in his stead (1688).
The New England people, like most of the English, were delighted
with this change of masters. They had cause to be, for Connecticut
and Rhode Island were now allowed to keep their old charters, while
Massachusetts received a new one, by which the Plymouth colony and
Maine were added to it, and by which the right to vote and partly
govern themselves was assured to the people.
But we are told that Governor Fletcher, who ruled over Connecticut
after Andros, had so little respect for its charter that he once
went to Hartford to assume command over the militia there. He, too,
was met by Captain Wadsworth, who, having called out his men as
requested, bade them beat the drums every time the governor tried to
have his orders read.
This scene must have been very funny; for while the governor roared,
"Silence!" Wadsworth loudly cried, "Drum! drum, I say!" Finally
the captain laid his hand on his sword, saying very firmly: "If I
am interrupted again, I will make the sun shine through you in a
minute." Frightened by this threat, Governor Fletcher returned in
haste to New York, and never made another attempt to tamper with the
Connecticut charter.
At about the same time an interesting meeting was held by several
Connecticut ministers at New Haven. They had decided they needed a
new school, so each man brought a few books, which he laid down on
the table, saying they were his contribution to the new institution.
This school was held in different places at first, but in 1718 it
took the name of Yale College, because a man of that name gave some
books and money for its use.
A few of the old Tories, both in England and America, remained
faithful to the banished James, and among them was the governor
of New York. When William and Mary were proclaimed rulers, this
governor fled, leaving the colony without any head. Leīs´ler, a
patriotic citizen, knowing the French and Indians in the north would
take advantage of this state of affairs to invade the province, now
rallied his friends around him, and with their help began to govern
for William and Mary.
But as Albany at first refused to obey Leisler, there was some
trouble and bloodshed. Soon a messenger came over from England, to
say that the king and queen were going to send over a new governor,
named Sloughter. This messenger bade Leisler, in the meantime,
give up the power to him; but the patriot refused to do so, and
surrendered it only to Sloughter when he finally came.
Because of this refusal, Leisler and eight of his friends were
accused of treason, and sentenced to death. But Sloughter, feeling
that the trial had been hardly fair, would not sign their death
warrants, so they could not be put to death. Leisler's foes,
therefore, had to wait until a dinner party took place, when they
made the drunken governor sign the papers, and hanged Leisler. A
few years later, the whole affair was brought before Parliament,
which declared that Leisler had died innocent, and paid his family
a certain sum of money because he had been wrongfully accused and
killed.
XLVI. SALEM WITCHES.
About four years after the Revolution of 1688, in England, arose the
Salem witchcraft delusion, which you will now hear about. In olden
times, as you have seen, people had very few and poor chances of
learning, compared with what you have now. Almost everybody then
believed in witches. These were supposed to be persons who had sold
their souls to Satan, could ride through the air on broomsticks,
make others ill by looking at them with an evil eye, cast a spell
upon cattle, houses, or furniture, and, in short, do all sorts of
impossible things.
As you know, some children have very lively imaginations, and
hearing people talk of such things as seriously as if they were
quite true, a few children in Salem, Massachusetts, began to fancy
they must be bewitched, because they were not quite well and had
fits. The grown-up people, who should have known better and merely
given the children medicine to cure their illness, believed these
youngsters, and anxiously inquired who could have cast a spell upon
them.
The children, remembering that their elders often spoke of the
witches as old, first began to talk of such and such a woman who had
looked at them crossly or threatened to beat them with her staff
when they played tricks upon her. These poor old creatures, who were
really in their second childhood, and not responsible for what they
said or did, were put into prison, and tortured in many cruel ways,
so as to force them to confess that they were witches. Bewildered,
and hoping to get free, some of the poor old creatures finally
acknowledged that they were witches.
Almost everybody believed in witchcraft at that time, and for many
years supposed witches had been treated with great cruelty in
Europe. When persons accused of witchcraft refused to confess, some
people thought that the only way to find out the truth was to throw
them into the water. If the victims sank, it was said they could
not be witches, but if they swam, it was considered a sure sign that
they had sold themselves to the Evil One, and they were sentenced
to death, either by hanging, burning, or torture. But this was,
after all, only a choice of deaths, for the poor creatures who sank
were allowed to remain under water so long, to make sure they were
innocent, that they were generally dead when taken out.
Persons who were only suspected of witchcraft were put in the
stocks, fastened to the pillory, whipped at the cart tail, or placed
on the ducking stool, or had their ears chopped off. These were
punishments often applied to criminals in those days, and if you
care to see pictures of pillory, stocks, and ducking stool, you can
find them in any large dictionary. Both men and women were accused
of witchcraft in Salem, and one of the men was put to death by a
torture called _peine forte et dure_, by which he was slowly crushed
under a thick door, upon which tremendous weights were laid. He was,
fortunately, the only person in our country who was ever punished in
this inhuman way.
Nearly one hundred and fifty people of all kinds were arrested for
witchcraft in Salem, and nineteen of them, after being tried by
a court, were found guilty and put to death. But people finally
saw that it was all folly, and even the learned minister, Cotton
Math´er, who had believed in witches just like the rest, had to own
that he had been mistaken. The children were now punished when they
pretended to be under a spell, and the Salem witchcraft delusion
came to an end. Ever since then, no one with a grain of sense has
believed in witches; but you will often hear people speak of the
terrible time they had in Salem while the belief in them lasted. The
building shown in the picture was one of the houses of Salem at that
time; and it is still pointed out there as "the witch house."
[Illustration: The Salem Witch House.]
Mather, the famous "Patriarch of New England," who believed in
witches, was a very learned man. He wrote more books than there are
days in the year, and was so busy that he wrote over his door, "Be
short," so that people should not take up his time with idle talk.
In one of his books he once read that smallpox could be prevented by
vaccination. He told this to Boylston, a Boston doctor, who tried it
on his own son and servants. But when the Bos-to´ni-ans first heard
of it, they were so indignant that they wanted to kill Boylston.
In time, however, people saw that the doctor was right, and ever
since vaccination has been practiced, few people have died of the
disease which once swept away whole families. Because Boylston went
ahead and did what was right, in spite of people's threats, he is
now greatly honored, and a fine street in Boston bears his name.
XLVII. DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI.
While the English were planting thirteen colonies along the Atlantic
seaboard, between Nova Scotia and Florida, the French were equally
busy farther north. As we have seen, Breton fishermen visited the
banks of Newfoundland early in the sixteenth century, and gave their
name to Cape Breton Island. Verrazano and Cartier both crossed the
Atlantic in behalf of the French, Cartier naming the St. Lawrence,
Canada, and Montreal, and claiming all Acadia (the land east of
Maine), together with New France, which was situated in the basin of
the Lakes and the St. Lawrence River.
Religious troubles had, as we have also seen, led Coligny to
try to plant colonies in Carolina and Florida. But the Huguenot
settlers were murdered by the Spaniards, and the attempt of De Monts
(mawN) to establish a colony in Maine proved equally unsuccessful.
The first real settlement of the French was made at Port Royal
(Annapolis), in Acadia (Nova Scotia), in 1604. This colony, composed
of thrifty people, in time became prosperous, and the Acadians lived
in peace and comfort in their new homes, being on excellent terms
with all the neighboring Indians.
In 1608, Champlain (sham-plān´), the "Father of New France,"
a noble, brave, and good Frenchman, crossed the Atlantic for
the fourth time. He sailed far up the St. Lawrence, and made a
settlement at Quebec, which soon became the chief French town in
America. Champlain explored the country for hundreds of miles
around there. He was the first European to behold the lake which
bears his name, the same year that Hudson sailed up the river to
Albany (1609). During these explorations of New France, Champlain
made friends with the Al-gon´quin Indians, the great foes of the
Ir-o-quois´ (or Five Nations), who occupied all the central part of
what is now New York state.
[Illustration: Old Quebec.]
The Algonquin Indians, being at war with the Iroquois, persuaded
Champlain to help them. His presence in armor in the next battle,
and the report of European firearms, so terrified the Iroquois that
they were badly beaten on the shore of Lake Champlain. This ever
after made them hate the French as cordially as they did their
lifelong enemies, the Algonquin Indians. To be able to cope with the
latter, who easily got firearms from French traders, the Iroquois
began to buy guns from the Dutch; for their usual weapons, tomahawk
and bow and arrows, were far less effective than firearms.
The French had come to Quebec with two great purposes in view:
the first, to trade for furs, and the second, to convert the
Indians. The colonists were, therefore, either trappers, traders,
or missionaries. The former went about from place to place to set
their traps or trade with the Indians, and were therefore called
_voyageurs_ (travelers), or _coureurs de bois_ (wood rangers).
Finding the European dress unsuited to the rough life they led,
these men soon adopted a half-Indian costume of soft deerskin, and
learned many of the woodland ways of the redskins.
Wherever the trappers and traders went, priests boldly followed,
carrying only a crucifix, a prayer book, and sometimes a portable
altar. They diligently taught, preached, and baptized, making every
effort to learn the Indian languages as quickly as possible, so they
could preach the gospel and win more converts. Full of zeal for
their religion, these missionaries were so brave that they soon won
the respect of the Indians; and when the latter saw how quietly the
priests endured hardships of all kinds, they lent an attentive ear
to their teachings.
Both traders and priests were on very friendly terms with the
Indians, whose good will they retained by living among them and
by making them frequent small presents. As the French hunters
considered the Indians their equals, they soon married squaws, and
their children, being half Indian and half French, strengthened the
bonds between the two races.
Little by little, priests and traders pressed farther and farther
inland, visiting the Great Lakes, along whose shores they
established missions, forts, and trading posts. Finally, they came
to what are now Il-li-nois´ and Wis-con´sin, where many places still
bear the French names then given them.
The most remarkable of all these French traders was Joliet
(zho-le-ā´). Not only was he thoroughly at home in the trackless
forests, but he could also talk several Indian languages. Hearing
the savages tell of a great river flowing southward, he fancied that
it must empty into the Pacific Ocean.
Joliet had long been the companion of Marquette (mar-ket´), a
Catholic priest, so they two resolved to go and explore that region.
But the Indians tried to frighten them by telling them there were
awful monsters on the "Father of Waters," which swallowed men and
canoes.
Fron´te-nac, the governor of New France, having consented to this
journey, Marquette and Joliet met at the outlet of Lake Mich´i-gan
(map, page 322), paddled up to Green Bay, and went up the Fox
River. Then their Indian guides carried their canoes across to the
Wisconsin River, where, bidding them farewell, the trader, priest,
and five voyageurs drifted down the stream to the Mississippi. This
was in 1673. Sailing southward for many miles, without seeing a
single human being, the explorers came to huge cliffs upon which the
Indians had painted rude demons; then they beheld wide prairies and
great herds of buffaloes on the right bank of the river.
Some distance farther on they saw a path, and, following it, they
came to an Indian village. When the Indians saw the white men draw
near, the chief came out to welcome them, shading his eyes with his
hand, and saying: "Frenchmen, how bright the sun shines when you
come to visit us!" To honor his guests, he had a feast of buffalo
meat and fish prepared, and fed the strangers with a huge wooden
spoon, just as if they were babies. Other Indians removed fish bones
for them with their fingers, blew on their food to cool it, and from
time to time poked choice bits into their mouths. As these were
Indian good manners, Marquette and Joliet submitted as gracefully
as they could. But it seems that it hurt their host's feelings when
they refused to taste his best dish, a fat dog nicely roasted!
[Illustration: Marquette and Joliet come to an Indian Village.]
After spending the night with these Indians, Joliet and Marquette
were escorted back to their canoes. Paddling on, they next came to
the place where the Missouri joins the Mississippi. The waters of
the Missouri were both swift and muddy, and whirled whole trees
along as easily as mere chips. After passing the mouth of the Ohio,
the explorers saw Indians armed with guns and hatchets, which proved
they were near European settlements.
Fully convinced by this time that the Mississippi flowed into
the Gulf of Mexico, and not into the Pacific Ocean, as they had
first supposed, and anxious to make this fact known at Quebec,
the explorers turned back, south of the mouth of the Arkansas
(ar´kan-saw). They had thus reached nearly the same place which De
Soto had visited about one hundred and thirty-two years before.
Slowly paddling upstream, they now worked their way up the Illinois
River, and carried their canoes overland to the Chicago (she-caw´go)
River, through which they reëntered Lake Michigan, after eighteen
months' journey.
Marquette staid at a mission on Green Bay for a while, then
journeyed to the Illinois, and when spring came again, he made an
effort to get back to Mich-i-li-mack´i-nac. But he became so ill
that before long he had to be carried ashore, and laid under a tree,
where he breathed his last, and was buried.
Meantime, Joliet hastened back to Montreal to make his report to the
governor. His canoe upset, and his plans and papers were lost, but
the news he brought made the French anxious to secure the land by
building trading forts along the rivers that had been explored.
It is because Marquette and Joliet were the first white men who
visited this part of the country, that their names have been given
to a port and county at the northern end of Lake Michigan, and to
a town in Illinois. They were such bold explorers that beautiful
monuments have also been erected in their honor.
XLVIII. LA SALLE'S ADVENTURES.
In the meantime, another French explorer, La Salle (lah sahl´),
had also been at work, and had discovered the Ohio River. In 1679,
six years after Marquette and Joliet sailed down the Mississippi,
La Salle came to the Illinois River, where he built Fort Crèvecœur
(crāv´ker) ("heartbreak"), near the place occupied by the present
city of Pe-o´ri-a.
La Salle next went back to Canada for supplies, and reached Montreal
only by means of much paddling and a long tramp of a thousand miles.
But he left orders with a priest, named Hen´ne-pin, to explore the
upper part of the Mississippi River. Father Hennepin, therefore,
went down the Illinois, and then paddled upstream to the Falls of
St. An´tho-ny, in 1680. His adventures were very exciting, for he
fell into the hands of the Sioux (soo) Indians. Long after he got
back to Europe, he claimed to have been the first to sail all the
way down the Mississippi; but this honor is now generally believed
to belong to La Salle.
When La Salle came back to Crèvecœur a year later, he found his fort
in ruins; most of his men had deserted. At first he thought that his
few faithful followers had been killed by the Indians, but his fears
were quieted when they joined him at Michilimackinac.
In 1681 La Salle again set out, with his lieutenant Ton´ty and a
band of Indians, for the southern end of Lake Michigan. Sailing up
the Chicago, he had his canoes carried across to the Illinois River.
It was the Indians who taught the white men thus to pass from one
stream to another, and to avoid falls and rapids. These carrying
places received from the French explorers the name of "portage," by
which they are still known, even though no one now thinks of using
them for that purpose.
Sailing down the Illinois and Mississippi, La Salle reached the
mouth of the latter stream in 1682. As was the custom with explorers
of every nation, he solemnly took possession, in the name of his
king, of the river and the land it drained. This territory, as you
can see on your map, included most of the region between the Rocky
and Alleghany Mountains, the Great Lakes, and the Gulf of Mexico; it
was called Lou-i-si-a´na, in honor of Louis XIV. of France.
Arriving at Quebec, after meeting with many adventures, La Salle
told Frontenac that France ought to make good her claim to the land
by building trading posts at intervals all along the principal
streams. He added that it was also necessary to have a fort at the
mouth of the Mississippi, and soon after went to France to tell the
king about his discoveries, and ask for help.
Louis XIV. gave La Salle several ships loaded with supplies; and a
small army of colonists having joined him, the explorer set out.
His fleet reached the Gulf of Mexico in 1684; but, owing to some
mistake, it sailed past the mouth of the Mississippi without seeing
it. As the captain would not believe La Salle and turn back, they
coasted on until they finally landed at Mat-a-gor´da Bay, in Texas.
Here a fort was built; but the spot proved so unhealthful that many
colonists died. The ships having gone back, run aground, or been
dashed to pieces, the French could not get away again by sea. La
Salle therefore decided to set out on foot, so as to join Tonty and
obtain more supplies for his unhappy colony.