reasons, whereby if we seek to explain the judgments of God, we do fail
of the spiritual profiting we might find therein. For no doubt these
present calamities are God's judgment upon this people for its sins,
seeing it is well known that the bloody and cruel war now over, hath
brought in upon us all manner of new and strange sins, even as if God
would have us advertised how easily that liberty which we have gained
may run into licentiousness. Sabbath-breaking and blasphemy have come in
upon us like a flood, and the new and heinous sin of card-playing hath
contaminated our borders, as hath been of late brought to light in the
cases of Jerubbabel Galpin and Zedekiah Armstrong, who were taken in the
act, and are even now in the stocks. And thereby am I reminded that I
had purposed to improve this occasion for the reproof and admonition of
them that stand by.”
And thereupon the parson saluted the gentlemen and sedately crossed the
green toward the stocks, around which was a noisy crowd of men and boys.
As the parson approached, however, a respectful silence fell upon them.
There was a general pulling off of hats and caps, and those in his path
stood obsequiously aside, while the little children, slinking behind the
grown folks, peeped around their legs at him. The two hobbledehoys
in the stocks, loutish farmer's boys, had been already undergoing the
punishment for about an hour. Their backs were bent so that their bodies
resembled the letter U laid on its side, and their arms were strained
as if they were pulling out of the sockets. All attempted bravado, all
affectation of stoical indifference, all sense even of embarrassment,
had evidently been merged in the demoralization of intense physical
discomfort, and the manner in which they lolled their heads, first on
one side and then on the other, was eloquent of abject and shameless
misery. Standing directly in front of these hapless youths, and using
them as his text, the parson began to admonish the people in this wise:
“It would seem the will of God to permit the adversary to try the people
of Stockbridge with divers new and strange temptations, not known to
our fathers, doubtless to the end, that their graces may shine forth
the more clearly, even as gold tried in the fire hath a more excellent
lustre, by reason of its discipline.
“I have examined myself with fasting, to see if any weakness or laxity
in my office, as shepherd of this flock, might be the occasion of this
license given to Satan. And it behooveth you, each in his own soul,
and in his own household, to make inquisition lest some sin of his or
theirs, bring this new temptation of card-playing, upon our people,
even as the wedge of fine gold which Achan took and hid in his tent, did
mightily discomfit the host of Israel with the plagues of the Lord. For
even as for the sin of Adam, we are all justly chargeable, so for the
sins of one another, doth the justice of God afflict us, so that we may
find our account in watching over our brethren, even as over ourselves.
“And you, whom Satan hath led away captive,” pursued the reverend
orator, addressing himself to the young men in the stocks, “be ye
thankful that ye have not been permitted to escape this temporal
recompense of your transgression, which, if proved, may save you from
the eternal flames of hell, Reflect, whether it be not better to endure
for a season, the contempt and the chastisement of men, rather than to
bear the torments and jeers of the devil and his angels forever.”
“Behold,” said the minister, holding up the pack of cards taken from the
prisoners, “with what instruments Satan doth tempt mankind, and consider
how perverse must be the inclination which can be tempted by devices
that do so plainly advertise their devilish origin. At times Satan doth
so shrewdly mask his wiles that if it were possible the very elect might
be deceived, but how evidently doth he here reveal his handiwork.”
He held up some of the court cards.
“Take note of these misshaped and deformed figures, heathenishly
attired, and with no middle parts or legs, but with two heads turned
diverse ways. These are not similitudes of man, who was made in the
image of his Maker, but doubtless of fiends, revealed by Satan to the
artificers who do his work in the fabrication of these instruments of
sin. Mark these figures of diamonds and hearts, and these others,
which I am told do signify spades and clubs. How plainly do they typify
ill-gotten riches and bleeding hearts, violence and the grave. Wretched
youths, which of ye tempted the other to this sin?”
“Je assed me to dew it,” whimpered Zedekiah.
“Kiah, he assed me fust,” averred Jerubbabel.
“No doubt ye are both right,” said the minister sternly. “When two
sin together, Satan is divided in twain, and the one half tempteth the
other. See to it that ye sin not again on this wise, lest a worse thing
come upon you.”
Scarcely had the parson turned away, when a shout from some boys who had
gone to the corner to watch for the coming of the Squire, announced his
approach, and presently he appeared at the corner, riding a fine gray
horse, and came on at an easy canter across the green. He was a tall,
broad-shouldered, finely-proportioned man of about forty, with a refined
face, frank and open, but rather haughty in expression, with piercing
black eyes; a man in whose every gesture lay conscious power and
obvious superiority. As he rode by the silent crowd, he acknowledged the
salutations of the people with a courteous wave of the hand, but drew
rein only when he reached the group of dignitaries about the store.
There he dismounted and shook hands with the parson, who has rejoined
the party, with Dr. Partridge, Squire Edwards and Squire Woodbridge.
“What news bring you from the convention? I trust you have been
Providentially guided. I have not failed to remember you in my prayers,”
said the parson.
“For which I am deeply grateful, Reverend Sir,” replied Sedgwick. “And
truly I think your prayers have been effectual. The blessing of God has
been manifestly upon the convention. Berkshire has not been disgraced,
as have been the lower counties, by a seditious and incendiary body of
resolutions on the part of her delegates. There were not wanting plenty
of hot-heads, but they were overruled. I am convinced such might
also have been the issue in the other counties, had the gentlemen put
themselves forward as delegates, instead of leaving it all in a fit of
disgust to the people.”
“Was there any action taken in favor of the plan for the emission
of bills, which shall systematically depreciate!” inquired Squire
Woodbridge.
“Such a resolution was introduced by Thomas Gold of Pittsfield, a
pestilent fellow, but we threw it out.”
“What was the action on reduction of expenses of suits at law?” inquired
Dr. Partridge.
“Again nothing,” replied Sedgwick. “In a word, we refused to yield to
any of the demands of the malcontents, or to hamper the Legislature with
any specific recommendations. You know that we Berkshire people, thanks
to our delay in recognizing the State authority, have an evil repute
at Boston for a mobbish and ungovernable set. It seemed that this was
a good opportunity, when the conventions of all the other counties were
sending up seditious petitions, to make the moderation of our conduct
such a contrast that there might be an end of such talk in the future.”
Meanwhile, as it became apparent to the crowd on the green that they
were not likely to be vouchsafed any information unless they asked for
it, a brisk disputation, conducted in an undertone, so that it might
not reach the ears of the gentlemen, arose as to who should be the
spokesmen.
“I jess ez leeve go 's not,” said Jabez Flint, the Tory, “only they
wouldn' hev nothin tew say ter me ez wuz a Tory.”
“Ef I were ten year younger, I'd go in a minute,” said Israel Goodrich,
“but my jints is kinder stiff. Abner, thar, he'd orter go, by rights.”
“Why don' ye go, Abner? Ye ain't scairt o' speakin tew Squire, be ye!”
said Peleg.
“I ain't scairt o' no man, and ye know it's well's ye wanter know.
I'd go in a jiffey, only bein a young man, I don' like tew put myself
forrard tew speak for them as is older.”
“Why don' ye go yerself, Peleg, if ye be so dretful brave!” inquired
Israel Goodrich.
“That's so, Peleg, why don' ye go?”
“I ain't no talker,” said Peleg. “Ther's Ezry, he'd orter go, he's sech
a good talker.”
But Ezra swallowed the bait without taking the hook. “Tain't talkin
ez is wanted, it's assin. Any on ye kin dew that's well's I,” he
discriminated.
The spirit of mutual deference was so strong that it is doubtful how
long the contest of modesty might have continued, had not Laban Jones
suddenly said:
“Ef none on ye dasn't ass what the convenshin has did, I'll ass myself.
I'm more scairt o' my hungry babbies an I be o' the face o' any man.”
Raising his stalwart figure to its full height, and squaring his
shoulders as if to draw courage from a consciousness of his thews and
sinews, Laban strode toward the store. But though he took the first
steps strongly and firmly, his pace grew feebler and more hesitating
as he neared the group of gentlemen, and his courage might have ebbed
entirely, had not the parson, glancing around and catching his eye,
given him a friendly nod. Laban thereupon came up to within a rod or two
of the group, and taking off his cap, said in a small voice:
“Please we'd like ter know what the convenshin has did?”
Sedgwick, who had his back to him, turned quickly, and seeing Laban,
said in a preëmptory tone:
“Ah! Laban, you may tell your friends that the convention very wisely
did nothing at all,” and as he said this he turned to finish something
that he was saying to Squire Woodbridge. Laban's jaw fell, and he
continued to stand stock still for several moments, his dull features
working as he tried to take in the idea. Finally, his consternation
absorbing his timidity he said feebly:
“Nothin? Did you say, Squire?”
Sedgwick wheeled about with a frown, which however, changed into an
expression of contemptuous pity as he saw the genuineness of the poor
fellow's discomfiture.
“Nothing, Laban,” he said, “except to resolve to support the courts,
enforce the laws, and punish all disorderly persons. Don't forget that
last, Laban, to punish all disorderly persons. Be sure to tell your
friends that. And tell them, too, Laban, that it would be well for them
to leave matters of government to their betters and attend to their
farms,” and as Laban turned mechanically and walked back Sedgwick added,
speaking to the gentlemen about him:
“I like not this assembling of the people to discuss political matters.
We must look to it, gentlemen, or we shall find that we have ridded
ourselves of a king only to fall into the hands of a democracy, which I
take it would be a bad exchange.”
“Sir,” said Edwards, “you must be in need of refreshment, after your
ride. Come in, sir, and come in gentlemen, all. We shall discuss the
Providential issue of the convention more commodiously within doors,
over a suitable provision of Jamaica.”
The suggestion seemed to be timely and acceptable, and one by one the
gentlemen, standing aside with ceremonious politeness to let one another
precede, entered the store, Parson West leading, for it was neither
according to the requirements of decorum, or his own private tastes,
that the minister should decline a convivial invitation of this
character.
“What d'ee say, Laban?”
“What did they dew?”
“Did they 'bolish the loryers?”
“Wat did they dew baout more bills, Laban, hey?”
“What did they dew baout the taxes?”
“Why don't ye speak, man?”
“What's the matter on ye?” were some of the volley of questions with
which the people hailed their chop-fallen deputy on his return, crowding
forward around him, plucking his sleeves and pushing him to get
his attention, for he regarded them with a dazed and sleep-walking
expression. Finally he found his voice, and said:
“Squire says ez haow they didn' dew nothin.”
There was a moment's dead silence, then the clamor burst out again.
“Not dew nothin?”
“What d'ye mean, Laban?”
“Nothin baout the taxes?”
“Nothin baout the loryers?”
“Nothin baout the sheriffs' fees?”
“Nothin baout jailin for debt?”
“Nothin baout takin prop'ty tew a valiation, Laban?”
“Nothin baout movin govment aout o' Bosting?”
“Nothin, I tells ye,” answered Laban, in the same tone of utter
discouragement. “Squire says ez haow the convenshin hain't done nothin
'cept tew resolve that ez courts sh'd go on an the laws sh'd be kerried
aout an disorderly folks sh'd be punished.”
The men looked from one to another of each other's faces, and each wore
the same blank look. Finally Israel Goodrich said, nodding his head with
an expression of utter dejection at each word:
“Wal, I swow, I be kinder disappinted.”
There was a space of silence.
“So be I,” said Peleg.
Presently Paul Hubbard's metallic voice was heard.
“We were fools not to have known it. Didn't we elect a General Court
last year a purpose to do something for us, and come to get down to
Bosting didn't the lawyers buy em up or fool em so they didn't do
a thing? The people won't git righted till they take hold and right
themselves, as they did in the war.”
“Is that all the Squire said, Laban, every word?” asked Israel, and as
he did so all eyes turned on Laban with a faint gleam of hope that there
might yet be some crumb of comfort. Laban scratched his head.
“He said suthin baout govment bein none o' our business an haow we'd a
better go hum an not be loafin roun'.”
“Ef govment hain't no business o' ourn I'd like tew know what in time we
fit the King fer,” said Peleg.
“That's so, wy didn' ye ass Squire that queschin?” said Meshech Little.
“By gosh,” exclaimed Abner Rathbun, with a sudden vehemence, “ef govment
ain't no business o' ourn they made a mistake when they teached us that
fightin was.”
“What dew ye mean?” asked Israel half timorously.
“Never mind wat I mean,” replied Abner, “on'y a wum 'll turn wen it's
trod on.”
“I don' bleeve but that Laban's mistook wat the Squire said. Ye ain't
none tew clever, ye know, yerself, Laban, and I callate that ye didn'
more'n half understan' wat Squire meant.”
It was Ezra Phelps who announced this cheering view, which instantly
found general favor, and poor Laban's limited mental powers were at once
the topic of comments more plain spoken than flattering. Paul Hubbard,
indeed, shook his head and smiled bitterly at this revulsion of
hopefulness, but even Laban himself seemed eager to find ground for
believing himself to have been, in this instance, an ass.
“Ye see the hull thing's in a nutshell,” said Abner. “Either Laban's a
fool, or else the hull caounty convenshin o' Berkshire is fools an wuss,
an I callate it's Laban.”
Perhaps the back room of the store lacked for Sedgwick, a comparatively
recent resident of Stockbridge, those charms of familiarity it possessed
for the other gentlemen, for even as Abner was speaking, he came out
alone. As he saw the still waiting and undiminished crowd of people,
he frowned angrily, and mounting his horse, rode directly toward them.
Their sullen aspect, which might have caused another to avoid them, was
his very reason for seeking an encounter. As he approached, his piercing
eye rested a moment on the face of every man, and as it did so, each
eye, impelled by a powerfull magnetism, rose deferentially to his, and
every cap was pulled off.
“What is it, Ezra?” he demanded sharply, seeing that Ezra wanted to
address him.
“If you please, Squire,” said Ezra, cap in hand, “Laban's kinder stupid,
an we callate he muster got what ye said tuther eend to. Will ye kindly
tell us what the convenshin did?”
Stopping his horse, Sedgwick replied, in a loud, clear voice.
“The convention declared that the laws shall be enforced, and all
disorderly persons punished with the stocks and with lashes on the bare
back.”
“Is that all?” faltered Ezra.
“All!” exclaimed Sedgwick, as his eye rested a moment on every face
before him. “Let every one of you look out that he does not find it too
much.”
And now he suddenly broke off in a tone of sharp command, “Disperse and
go to your houses on the pains and penalties of Sabbath breaking. The
sun is down,” and he pointed to the last glimmer of the yellow orb as
it sank below the mountains. The people stood still just long enough to
verify the fact with a glance, that holy time had begun, and instantly
the green was covered with men and boys swiftly seeking shelter within
their doors from the eye of an angry Deity, while from the store hastily
emerged Squire Woodbridge, Dr. Partridge and the parson, and made their
several ways homeward as rapidly as dignity would permit.
Perhaps ten minutes later, Captain Perez Hamlin might have been seen
pricking his jaded horse across the deserted green. He looked around
curiously at the new buildings and recent changes in the appearance of
the village, and once or twice seemed a little at loss about his route.
But finally he turned into a lane leading northerly toward the hill,
just at the foot of which, beside the brook that skirted it, stood a
weather-beaten house of a story and a half. As he caught sight of this,
Perez spurred his horse to a gallop, and in a few moments the mother,
through her tears of joy, was studying out in the stern face of the man,
the lineaments of the boy whose soldier's belt she had buckled round him
nine years before.
CHAPTER FIFTH
THAT MEANS REBELLION!
Elnathan was the only one of the family who went to church the following
day. Mrs. Hamlin was too infirm to climb the hill to the meeting-house,
and Perez' mood was more inclined to blood-spilling than to God's
worship. All day he walked the house, his fists clenched, muttering
curses through his set teeth, and looking not unlike a lion, ferociously
pacing his cage. For his mother was tearfully relating to him the share
of the general misery that had fallen to their lot, as a family, in the
past nine years, how Elnathan had not been able to carry on his farm,
without the aid of the boys, and had run behind, till now, Solomon
Gleason the schoolmaster, had got hold of the mortgage, and was going to
turn them into the street, that very week. But all this with the mother,
as with the brother, was as nothing, compared with Reuben's imprisonment
and sickness unto death.
It was Mrs. Hamlin, who did most of the talking, and much of what she
said fell unheeded on Perez' ears, as he walked unceasingly to and fro
across the kitchen. For his mind was occupied with all the intensity of
application, of which it was capable, with the single point,--how he was
to get Reuben out of jail. Even the emergency, which would so soon be
raised, by the selling out of the homestead, and the turning of the
family into the street, was subordinated, in his mind, to this prime
question. The picture of his brother, shaggy-haired and foul, wallowing
in the filth of that prison sty, and breathing its fetid air, which his
memory kept constantly before him, would have driven him distracted,
if for a moment he had allowed himself to doubt that he should somehow
liberate him, and soon. He had told his mother nothing of the horrible
condition in which he had found him. Under no circumstances must she
know of that, not even if worst came to worst, and so even while he
shuddered at the vision before his mind's eye, he essayed to speak
cheerfully about Reuben's surroundings, and his condition of health.
When she told him that Deacon Nash had refused to let him come home to
be nursed back to health, Perez had to comfort her by pretending that he
was not so very badly off where he was, and would doubtless recover.
“Nay, Perez,” she said, “my eyes are dim, come close to me, that I may
read your eyes. You were ever tender to your old mother, and I fear me,
you hide somewhat lest I should disquiet myself. Come here my son.” The
brave man's eyes, that had never quailed before the belching artillery,
had now ado indeed. Such sickness at heart behind them, such keen
mother's instinct trying them before.
“Oh, Perez! My boy is dying! I see it.”
“He is not, I tell you he is not,” he cried hoarsely, breaking away from
her. “He is well. He looks strong. Do you think I would lie to you? I
tell you he is well and getting better.”
But after that she would not be comforted. The afternoon wore on.
Elnathan came from meeting, and at last, through the open windows of the
house, came the cry, in children's voices.
“Sun's down! Sun's down!”
From the upper windows, its disc was yet visible, above the crest of the
western mountains, and on the hilltops, it was still high Sabbath; but
in the streets below, holy time was at an end. The doors, behind which,
in Sabbatical decorum, the children had been pent up all day long, swung
open with a simultaneous bang, and the boys with a whoop and halloo,
tumbled over each other into the street, while the girls tripped gaily
after. Innumerable games of tag, and “I spy,” were organized in a trice,
and for the hour or two between that and bed time, the small fry of the
village devoted themselves, without a moment's intermission, to getting
the Sabbath stiffening out of their legs and tongues.
Nor was the reawakening of the community by any means confined to the
boys and girls. For soon the streets began to be alive with groups of
men and women, all in their Sunday best, going to make social calls. In
the majority of Stockbridge households, the best clothes, unless there
chanced to be a funeral, were not put on oftener than once a week, when
the recurrence of the Sabbath made their assumption a religious duty,
and on this account it naturally became the custom to make the evening
of that day the occasion of formal social intercourse. As soon, too,
as the gathering twilight afforded some shield to their secret designs,
sundry young men with liberally greased hair, their arms stiff in the
sleeves of the unusual and Sunday coat, their feet, accustomed to the
immediate contact of the soil, encased in well larded shoes, might
have been seen gliding under the shadows of friendly fences, and along
bypaths, with that furtive and hangdog air which, in all ages, has
characterized the chicken-thief and the lover.
In front of the door of Squire Sedgwick's house is drawn up his
travelling carriage, with two fine horses. On the box is Sol, the
coachman, one of the Squire's negro freedmen, whose allegiance to the
Sedgwick family was not in the least shaken by the abolition of slavery
in the state by the adoption of the bill of rights six years before.
“I dunno noffin bout no Bill Wright,” was Sol's final dismissal of the
subject.
“Drive to Squire Woodbridge's house, Sol,” said Sedgwick, as he stepped
into the carriage.
Woodbridge was at the gate of his house, apparently about starting
on his usual evening visit to the store, when the carriage drove up.
Sedgwick alighted, and taking the other a little aside, said:
“It is necessary for me to start tonight for Boston, where I have some
important cases. I regret it, because I would rather be at home
just now. The spirit among the people is unruly, and while I do not
anticipate serious trouble, I think it is a time when gentlemen should
make their influence felt in their communities. I have no doubt,
however, that the interests of Stockbridge and of the government are
entirely safe in your hands as selectman and magistrate.”
“I hope, sir, that I am equal to the duties of my position,” replied
Woodbridge, stiffly.
“Allow me again to assure you that I have not the smallest doubt of it,”
said Sedgwick, affably, “but I thought it well to notify you of my own
necessary departure, and to put you on your guard. The bearing of the
people on the green last evening, of which I saw more than you did,
was unmistakably sullen, and their disappointment at the refusal of the
convention to lend itself to their seditious and impracticable desires,
is very bitter.”
“Undoubtedly the result of the convention has been to increase the
popular agitation. I had the honor to represent to you before it was
held that such would be its effect, at which time, I believe you held a
different view. Nevertheless, I opine that you exaggerate the degree of
the popular agitation. It would be natural, that being a comparatively
recent resident, you should be less apt to judge the temper of the
Stockbridge people, than we who are longer here.”