{238}
“Quelque rare que soit le véritable amour il l’est encore moins que la
véritable amitié.”--Rochefoucauld.
Hope Leslie met Mr. Fletcher at the threshold of the door. He was
sallying forth with hasty steps and disordered looks. He started at
the sight of her, and then, clasping her in his arms, exclaimed, “My
child! my child! my precious child!”
At the sound of his voice, the whole family rushed from the parlour.
“Praised be the Lord for thy deliverance, Hope Leslie!” cried Governor
Winthrop, clasping his hands with astonishment. Mrs. Grafton gave vent
to her feelings in hysterical sobbings and inarticulate murmurs of
joy. Madam Winthrop said, “I thought it was impossible; I told you the
Lord would be better to you than your fears:” and Esther Downing
embraced her friend with deep emotion, whispering as she did so, “The
Lord is ever better to us than our fears or our deservings.”
It was obvious to our heroine that all this excitement and overflowing
of tenderness could not be occasioned merely by her unseasonable
absence, and she begged to know what had caused so much alarm.
The governor was beginning, in his official manner, a formal
statement, when, as if the agitations of this eventful evening were
never to end, the explosion {239} of Chaddock’s vessel broke in upon
their returning tranquillity, and spread a panic through the town of
Boston.
The occurrence of the accident, at this particular moment, was
fortunate for Magawisca, as it prevented a premature discovery of her
escape; a discovery by which the governor would have felt himself
obliged to take measures for her recapture that might then have proved
effectual. The explosion, of course, withdrew his attention from all
other subjects, and both he and Mr. Fletcher went out to ascertain
whence it had proceeded, and what ill consequences had ensued.
In the mean time, Hope learned the following particulars from the
ladies. The family had retired to bed at the accustomed time, and,
about half an hour before her return, were alarmed by a violent
knocking at the outer door. The servant first awakened let in a
stranger, who demanded an immediate audience of the governor,
concerning matters of life and death. The stranger proved to be
Antonio, and his communication, the conspiracy with which our readers
are well acquainted, or, rather, as much of it as had fallen within
the knowledge of the subordinate agents. Antonio declared that, having
within the harbour of Boston been favoured with an extraordinary
visitation from his tutelar saint, who had vouchsafed to warn him
against his sinful comrades, he had determined, from the first, that
he would, if possible, prevent the wicked designs of the conspirators;
and for that purpose had solicited to be among {240} the number who
were sent on shore, intending to give notice to the governor in time
for him to counteract the wicked project: he averred that, after
quitting the boat, he had heard the screams of the unhappy girl when
she was seized by the sailors; he had been spurred to all possible
haste, but, unhappily, ignorant of the town, had strayed out of his
way in coming from the cove, and, finally, had found it almost
impossible to rouse any of the sleeping inhabitants to guide him to
the governor’s.
Antonio knew the name of the author of this guilty project to be Sir
Philip Gardiner, and its victim, Miss Leslie. These names were fearful
hints to the governor, and had prevented his listening with utter
incredulity to the tale of the stranger. As the easiest means of
obtaining its confirmation or refutation, a messenger was despatched
to Sir Philip’s lodgings, who almost instantly returned with the
intelligence that he, his page and baggage, had clandestinely
disappeared during the evening. This was a frightful coincidence; and,
while the governor’s orders that all the family should be called were
executing, he made one farther investigation.
He recollected the packet of letters which Rosa had given to her
master during the trial. Sir Philip had laid them on the table, and,
forgetting them in the confusion that followed, the governor had taken
possession of them, intending to restore them at the first
opportunity. He felt himself now not only authorized to break the
seals, but compelled to that discourtesy. The letters were from a
confidential {241} correspondent, and proved beyond a doubt that Sir
Philip had formerly been the _protegé_ and ally of Thomas Morton, the
old political enemy of the colony; that he was a Roman Catholic; of
course, that the governor and his friends had been duped by his
religious pretensions; and, in short, that he was an utter profligate,
who regarded neither the laws of God nor man.
And into the power of this wretch the friends of Miss Leslie were
left, for a few agonizing moments, to believe she had fallen; and
their joy at her appearance was, as may be believed, commensurate with
their previous distress.
Some of the minor incidents of the evening now transpired. One of the
servants reported that the young sailor had disappeared; and Mrs.
Grafton suddenly recollected to have observed that Faith Leslie was
not with her when she was awakened, a circumstance she had overlooked
in her subsequent agitation. By a single clew an intricate maze may be
threaded. Madam Winthrop now recalled Faith Leslie’s emotion at the
first sound of the sailor’s voice, and the ladies soon arrived at the
right conclusion, that he was in reality Oneco, and that they had
effected their escape together. Jennet (if Jennet had survived to hear
it, she never would have believed the tale), the only actual sufferer,
was the only one neither missed nor inquired for. Good Master Cradock
was not forgotten; but his friends were satisfied with Miss Leslie’s
assurance that he was safe, and would probably not return before the
morning.
{242}
The final departure of her sister cost Hope many regrets and tears.
But an inevitable event of such a nature cannot seriously disturb the
happiness of life. There had been nothing in the intercourse of the
sisters to excite Hope’s affections. Faith had been spiritless,
wo-begone--a soulless body--and had repelled, with sullen
indifference, all Hope’s efforts to win her love. Indeed, she looked
upon the attentions of her English friends but as a continuation of
the unjust force by which they had severed her from all she held dear.
Her marriage, solemnized, as it had been, by prescribed Christian
rites, would probably have been considered by her guardian and his
friends as invalidated by her extreme youth, and the circumstances
which had led to the union. But Hope took a more youthful, romantic,
and, perhaps, natural view of the affair; and the suggestions of
Magawisca, combining with the dictates of her own heart, produced the
conclusion that this was a case where “God had joined together, and
man might not put asunder.”
All proper (though, it may be, not very vigorous) measures were taken
by Governor Winthrop, on the following day, to discover the retreat of
the fugitives, but the secret was faithfully kept while necessary to
their security.
The return of his children, and, above all, of Magawisca, seemed to
work miracles on their old father; his health and strength were
renewed, and for a while he forgot, in the powerful influence of her
presence, his wrongs and sorrows. He would not {243} hazard the safety
of his protector and that of his own family by lingering a single day
in the vicinity of his enemies.
Before the dawn of the next morning, this little remnant of the Pequod
race--a name at which, but a few years before, all within the bounds
of the New-England colonies--all, English and Indians, “grew
pale”--began their pilgrimage to the far western forests. That which
remains untold of their story is lost in the deep, voiceless obscurity
of those unknown regions.
The terrors her friends had suffered on account of our heroine,
induced them to overlook everything but the joy of her safety. She was
permitted to retire with Esther to their own apartment, without any
inquisition being made into the cause of her extraordinary absence.
Even her friend, when they were alone together, made no allusion to
it, and Hope rightly concluded that she was satisfied with her own
conjectures as to its object.
Hope could scarcely refrain from indulging the natural frankness of
her temper, by disclosing, unsolicited, the particulars of her
successful enterprise; and she only checked the inclinations of her
heart from the apprehension that Esther might deem it her duty to
extend her knowledge to her uncle, and thus Magawisca might be again
endangered. “She certainly conjectures how it is,” thought Hope,
making her own mental comments on Esther’s forbearance; “and yet she
does not indicate the least displeasure at my having combined with
Everell to render the {244} delightful service that her severe
conscience would not allow her to perform. She never spoke to me with
more tenderness: how could I ever suspect her of jealousy or distrust?
She is incapable of either--she is angelic; far, far more deserving of
Everell than I am.”
At this last thought, a half-stifled but audible sigh escaped her, and
reached her friend’s ear. Their eyes met. A deep, scorching blush
suffused Hope’s cheeks, brow, and neck. Esther’s face beamed with
ineffable sweetness and serenity. She looked as a mortal can look only
when the world and its temptations are trampled beneath the feet, and
the eye is calmly, steadily, immovably fixed on Heaven. She folded
Hope in her arms, and pressed her fondly to her heart, but not a word,
tear, or sigh escaped her. Her soul was composed to a profound
stillness, incapable of being disturbed by her friend’s tears and
sobs, the involuntary expression of her agitated, confused, and
irrepressible feelings.
Hope turned away from Esther and crept into her bed, feeling, like a
condemned culprit, self-condemned. It seemed to her that a charm had
been wrought on her; a sudden illumination had flashed from her
friend’s face into the most secret recesses of her heart, and
exposed--this was her most distressful apprehension--to Esther’s eye
feelings whose existence, till thus revealed to another (and the last
person in the world to whom they should be revealed), she had only,
and reluctantly, acknowledged to herself.
{245}
Deeply mortified and humbled, she remained wakeful, weeping and
lamenting this sudden exposure of emotions that she feared could never
be explained or forgotten, long after her friend had encircled her in
her arms, and fallen into a sweet and profound sleep.
We must leave the apartment of the generous and involuntary rivals to
repair to the parlour, where Governor Winthrop, after having
ascertained that Chaddock’s vessel had been blown up by the explosion,
was listening to Barnaby Tuttle’s relation of the transaction at the
prison.
The simple jailer, on learning from Everell’s confessions how he had
been cajoled, declined increasing his responsibilities by making the
exchange Everell proposed, but very readily acceded to his next
proposition, namely, that he should be permitted to share the
imprisonment of Cradock. On entering the dungeon, they found the good
old man sleeping as soundly on Magawisca’s pallet as if he were in his
own apartment; and Everell, rejoicing that he had suffered so little
in the good cause to which it had been necessary to make him
accessory, and exulting in the success of his enterprise, took
possession of his dark and miserable cell with feelings that he would
not have bartered for those of a conqueror mounting his triumphal car.
Barnaby had a natural feeling of vexation at having been outwitted by
Hope Leslie’s stratagems; but it was a transient emotion, and not
strong enough to check the habitual current of his gratitude and
affection {246} for her, nor did it at all enter into his relation of
the facts to the governor. On the contrary, his natural
kind-heartedness rendered the statement favourable towards all
parties.
He did not mention Magawisca’s name without a parenthesis, containing
some commendation of her deportment in the prison. He spoke of Hope
Leslie as the “thoughtless child,” or the “feeling young creature.”
Master Cradock was “the poor, witless old gentleman;” and “for Mr.
Everell, it was not within the bounds of human nature, in his peculiar
case, not to feel as he did; and as to himself, he was but an old
dotard, ill fitted to keep bars and bolts, when a child--the Lord and
the governor forgive her!--could guide him with a wisp of straw.”
Nothing was farther from Barnaby Tuttle’s thoughts than any endeavour
to blind or pervert a ruler’s judgment; but the governor found
something infectious in his artless humanity. Besides, he had one
good, sufficient, and state reason for extenuating the offence of the
young conspirators, and of this he made a broad canopy to shelter his
secret and kind dispositions towards them. A messenger had that day
arrived from the chief of the Narragansetts, with the information that
a war had broken out between Miantunnomoh and Uncas, and an earnest
solicitation that the English would not interfere with their domestic
quarrels.
To our ancestors it appeared their melancholy policy to promote rather
than to allay these feuds among the tribes; and a war between these
rival {247} and powerful chieftains assured, while it lasted, the
safety of the English settlements. It became, therefore, very
important to avoid any act that might provoke the universal Indian
sentiment against the English, and induce them to forego their civil
quarrel, and combine against the common enemy. This would be the
probable effect of the condemnation of the Pequod girl, whose cause
had been espoused by several of the tribes: still, on a farther
investigation of her case, the laws might require her condemnation;
and the Puritans held firmly to the principle that good must be done,
though evil ensue.
Governor Winthrop perceived that Magawisca’s escape relieved them from
much and dangerous perplexity; and though Everell Fletcher’s
interposition had been unlawful and indecorous, yet, as Providence had
made him the instrument of certain good, he thought his offence might
be pardoned by his associates in authority.
He dismissed Barnaby with an order to appear before him with his
prisoners at six o’clock the following morning. At that hour he
assembled together such of the magistrates and deputies as were in
Boston, deeming it, as he said, proper to give them the earliest
notice of the various important circumstances that had occurred since
the morning of the preceding day.
He opened the meeting with a communication of the important
intelligence received from the Narragansett chief; intimated the
politic uses to which his brethren might apply it; then, after some
general {248} observations on the imperfection of human wisdom,
disclosed at full the iniquitous character and conduct of Sir Philip
Gardiner; lamented, in particular, that he had been grievously
deceived by that crafty son of Belial, and then dwelt on the wonderful
interposition of Providence in behalf of Hope Leslie, which clearly
intimated, as he said, and all his auditors acknowledged, that the
young maiden’s life was precious in the sight of the Lord, and was
preserved for some special purpose.
He called their attention to the light thrown on the testimony of Sir
Philip against the Indian prisoner by his real character; and, last of
all, he communicated the escape of Magawisca, and the means by which
it had been accomplished, with this comment simply, that it had
pleased the Lord to bring about great good to the land by this rash
act of two young persons, who seemed to have been wrought upon by
feelings natural to youth, and the foolishness of an old man, whose
original modicum of sense was greatly diminished by age and excess of
useless learning; for, he said, Master Cradock not only wrote Greek
and Latin, and talked Hebrew like the Rev. Mr. Cotton, but he was
skilled in Arabic and the modern tongues.
The governor then proceeded to give many and plausible reasons, with
the detail of which it is not necessary to weary the patience of our
readers, why this case, in the absence of a precise law, should be put
under the government of mercy. His associates lent a favourable ear to
these suggestions. Most of {249} them considered the offence very much
alleviated by the youth of the two principal parties, and the strong
motives that actuated them. Some of the magistrates were warm friends
of the elder Fletcher, and all of them might have been quickened in
their decision by the approach of the breakfast hour; for, as modern
philosophy has discovered, the mind and sensibilities are much under
the dominion of these periodical returns of the hours of refection.
The conclusion of the whole matter was, that Miss Leslie and Master
Cradock should receive a private admonition from the governor, and a
free pardon; and that Mr. Everell Fletcher should be restored to
liberty on condition that, at the next sitting of the court, he
appeared in the prisoner’s bar to receive a public censure, and be
admonished as to his future carriage. To this sentence Everell
submitted at the proper time with due humility, and a very becoming,
and, as said the elders, edifying modesty.
Throughout the whole affair, Governor Winthrop manifested those
dispositions to clemency which were so beautifully illustrated by one
of the last circumstances of his life, when, being, as is reported of
him, upon his deathbed, Mr. Dudley pressed him to sign an order of
banishment of an heterodox person, he refused, saying, “_I have done
too much of that work already_.”
Everell and Master Cradock, who had awaited in an adjoining apartment
the result of these deliberations, were now informed of the merciful
decision of their judges, and summoned to take their places at {250}
the breakfast-table. While all this business was transpiring, Hope
Leslie, wearied by the fatigues, agitations, and protracted vigil of
the preceding night, was sleeping most profoundly. She awoke with a
confused sense of her last anxious waking thoughts, and naturally
turned to look for Esther; but Esther had already risen. This excited
no surprise; for it must be confessed that our heroine was often
anticipated in early rising, as in other severe duties, by her friend.
Admonished by a broad sunbeam that streamed aslant her apartment that
she had already trespassed on the family breakfast hour, she rose and
despatched her toilet duties. Her mind was still intent on Esther, and
suddenly she missed some familiar objects: Esther’s morocco
dressing-case and Bible, that always laid at hand on the
dressing-table. Hope was at that moment adjusting her hair; she
dropped her comb--cast a hasty survey around the room. Esther’s
trunks, bandboxes, every article belonging to her had disappeared.
“What could this mean?” Some solution of the mystery might have dawned
from the recollections of the preceding night; but, impatient for a
full explanation, she seized her whistle, opened the door, and blew
for Jennet till its shrill notes had penetrated every recess of the
house. But no Jennet appeared; and, without waiting to adjust her
hair, which she left in what is called disorder, but according to the
natural and beautiful order of nature, and with a flushed cheek and
beating heart, she hastily descended to the parlour, and, dispensing
with the {251} customary morning salutations, eagerly demanded, “Where
is Esther?”
The family were all assembled, and all at the breakfast-table. Her
sudden appearance produced an apparent sensation; every eye turned
towards her. Mrs. Grafton would have impulsively answered her
question, but she was prevented by an intimation from Madam Winthrop.
Everell’s eye, at the sight of her, had flashed a bright, intelligent
glance, but at her interrogatory it fell, and then turned on Madam
Winthrop inquiringly, indicating that he now, for the first time,
perceived that there was something extraordinary in the absence of her
niece.
Hope still stood with the door half open, her emotions in no degree
tranquillized by the reception of her inquiry.
Governor Winthrop turned to her with his usual ceremony.
“Good-morning, Miss Hope Leslie; be good enough to close the door--the
wind is easterly this morning. You are somewhat tardy, but we know you
have abundant reason: take your seat, my child; apologies are
unnecessary.”
Madam Winthrop beckoned to Hope to take a chair next her, and Hope
moved to the table mechanically, feeling as if she had been paralyzed
by some gorgon influence. Her question was not even adverted to--no
allusion was made to Esther. Hope observed that Madam Winthrop’s eyes
were red with weeping, and she also observed that, in offering the
little civilities of the table, she addressed her in a voice of
unusual kindness.
{252}
She dared not look again at Everell, whose unexpected release from
confinement would, at any other time, have fully occupied her
thoughts, and her perplexity was rather increased by seeing her
guardian’s eyes repeatedly fill with “soft tears unshed,” while they
rested on her with even more than their usual fondness.
Impatient and embarrassed as she was, it seemed to her the breakfast
would never end; and she was in despair when her aunt asked for her
third and her fourth cup of chocolate, and when the dismissal of the
table awaited old Cradock’s discussion of a replenished plate of fish,
from which he painfully and patiently abstracted the bones. But all
finite operations have their period: the breakfast did end, the
company rose, and all left the parlour, one after another, save the
two Fletchers, Madam Winthrop, and our heroine.
Hope would have followed her aunt--any farther delay seemed
insupportable--but Madam Winthrop took her hand and detained her.
“Stay, my young friend,” she said; “I have an important communication,
which could not be suitably made till this moment.” She took a sealed
letter from her pocket. “Nay, Hope Leslie, grow not so suddenly pale;
no blame is attached to thee--nor to thee, Mr. Everell Fletcher, who
art even more deeply concerned in this matter. Both the governor and
myself have duly weighed all the circumstances, and have most heartily
approved of that which she hath done, who, near and dear as she is to
us in the flesh, is still nearer {253} and dearer by those precious
gifts and graces that do so far exalt her (I would offend none
present) above all other maidens. Truly, ‘if many do virtuously,’
Esther ‘excelleth them all.’”
Hope was obliged to lean against the wall for support. The elder
Fletcher looked earnestly at Madam Winthrop, as if he would have said,
“For Heaven’s sake, do not protract this scene.” Perhaps she
understood his glance--perhaps she took counsel from her own womanly
feelings. “This letter, my young friends,” she said, “is addressed to
you both, and it was my niece’s request that you should read it at the
same time.”
Madam Winthrop kindly withdrew. Everell broke the seal, and both he
and Hope, complying faithfully with Miss Downing’s injunction, read
together, to the very last word, the letter that follows:
“To my dear and kind friends, Everell Fletcher and Hope Leslie:
“When you read these lines, the only bar to your earthly happiness
will be removed. With the advice and consent of my honoured uncle and
aunt, I have taken passage in the ‘Lion,’ which, as you know, is on
the eve of sailing for London. With God’s blessing on my present
purposes, I shall remain there, with my father, till he has closed his
affairs in the Old World, and then come hither again.
“Do not think, my dear friends, I am fleeing away, because, as matters
stand between us, I cannot abide to stay here. For your sakes--for I
would {254} not give you needless pain--I go for a little while. For
myself, I have contentment of mind. It hath pleased God to give me
glimpses of Christian happiness, the foundations of which are not laid
on the earth, and therefore cannot be removed or jostled by any of the
cross accidents of life.
“There have been some notable errors in the past. We have all erred,
and I most of all. My error hath been exceeding humbling to the pride
of woman; yours, Hope Leslie, was of the nature of your
disposition--rash and generous; and you, Everell (I speak it not
reproachfully, but as being truth-bound), have not dealt with Gospel
sincerity. I appeal to thine own heart: would it not have been better,
as well as kinder, to have said, ‘Esther, I do not love thee,’ than to
have permitted me to follow my silly imaginings, and thereby have
sacrificed my happiness for this world, and thine, and Hope Leslie’s?
for I think, and am sure, you never did me the wrong to believe I
would knowingly have taken thy hand without thy affections--all of
them (at least such measure as may be given to an earthly friend)
being poor and weak enough to answer to the many calls of life.
“It is fitting, that, having been guided to a safe harbour by the good
providence of God, we should look back (not reproachfully--God
forbid!--but with gratitude and humility) on the dark and crooked
passages through which we have passed. Neither our virtue (I speak it
humbly) nor our happiness has been wrecked. Ye will in no wise wonder
{255} that I speak thus assuredly of your happiness; but, resting your
eye on the past, you might justly deem that, for myself, I have fallen
into the ‘foolishness of boasting;’ not so. In another strength than
mine own I have overcome, and am of good cheer, and well assured that,
as the world hath not given me my joy, the world cannot take it away.
“For the rest, I shall ever rejoice that my affections settled on one
worthy of them; one for whom I shall hereafter feel a sister’s love,
and one who will not withhold a brother’s kindness. And to thee, my
loving, my own sweet and precious Hope Leslie, I resign him. And may
He who, by his signal providence, hath so wonderfully restored in you
the sundered affections of your parents, knitting, even from your
childish years, your hearts together in love--may He make you his own
dear and faithful children in the Lord.
“Thus, hoping for your immediate union and worldly well-being, ever
prays your true and devoted friend,
“Esther Downing.”
Hope Leslie’s tears fell like raindrops on her friend’s letter; and
when she had finished it, she turned and clasped her arms around her
guardian’s neck, and hid her face on his bosom. Feelings for which
words are too poor an expression, kept all parties for some time
silent. To the elder Fletcher it was a moment of happiness that
requited years of suffering. He gave Hope’s hand to Everell: “Sainted
mothers!” he said, raising his full eyes to {256} Heaven, “look down
on your children, and bless them!” And, truly, celestial spirits might
look with complacency, from their bright spheres, on the pure and
perfect love that united these youthful beings.
Mr. Fletcher withdrew; and we, following his example, must permit the
curtain to fall on this scene, as we hold it a profane intrusion for
any ear to listen to the first confessions of reciprocated, happy
love.
======
Events have already meted “fit retribution” to most of the parties who
have figured in our long story. A few particulars remain.
There was one man of Chaddock’s crew left alive to tell the tale; the
same whose footsteps, it may be recollected, Sir Philip heard, and on
whom he had vainly called for assistance. This man was lingering to
observe the principal actors in the tragedy when the explosion took
place, and, with the rest, was blown into the air; but he escaped with
his life, gained the boat, and came, the next day, safely to the
shore, where he related all he knew, to the great relief of the
curiosity of the good people of Boston.
Strict search was, by the governor’s order, made for the bodies of the
unhappy wretches who had been so suddenly sent to their doom.
Jennet’s was one of the first found: the handkerchief that had been
bound over her head still remained, the knot which defied Sir Philip’s
skill having also resisted the lashing of the waves. When {257} this
screen was removed and the body identified, the mystery of her
disappearance was at once explained. “Death wipes out old scores;” and
even Jennet, _dead_, was wrapped in the mantle of charity; but all who
had known her living, mentally confessed that Death could not have
been more lenient in selecting a substitute for the precious life he
had menaced.
Poor Rosa’s remains were not
“Left to float upon their wat’ry bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind.”
Her youth, her wrongs and sufferings, combined with the pleadings of
Hope Leslie, obtained for her the rites of a separate and solemn
burial. Tears of humility and pity were shed over her grave--a fit
tribute from virtuous and tender woman to a fallen, unhappy sister.
All the bodies of the sufferers were finally recovered except that of
Sir Philip Gardiner; and the inference of our pious forefathers, that
Satan had seized upon that as his lawful spoil, may not be deemed, by
their skeptical descendants, very unnatural.
We leave it to that large and most indulgent class of our readers, the
misses in their teens, to adjust, according to their own fancy, the
ceremonial of our heroine’s wedding, which took place in due time, to
the joy of her immediate friends, and the entire approbation of all
the inhabitants of Boston, who, in those early times, manifested a
friendly interest in {258} individual concerns, which is said to
characterize them to the present day.
The elder Fletcher remained with his children, and permitted himself
to enjoy to the full the happiness which it was plain Providence had
prepared for him. The close of his life was as the clear shining forth
of the sun after a stormy and troubled day.
Dame Grafton evinced some mortification at the discovery of the
fallibility of her judgment in relation to Sir Philip Gardiner; but
she soon dubbed him Sir _Janus_--a name that implied he had two faces;
and her sagacity was not at fault if she judged by the one presented
to her. Her trifling vexation was soon forgotten in her participation
in her niece’s felicity, and in her busy preparations for the wedding;
and, after that event, she was made so happy by the dutiful care of
Hope and Everell, that she ceased to regret Old England, till, falling
into her dotage, her entreaties, combining with some other motives,
induced them to visit their mother-country, where the old lady died,
and was buried in the tomb of the Leslies, the church burial-service
being performed by the Bishop of London. Her unconsciousness of this
poetic justice must be regretted by all who respect innocent
prejudices.
We hope that class of readers above alluded to will not be shocked at
our heroine’s installing Master Cradock as a life-member of her
domestic establishment. We are sure their kind hearts would reconcile
them to this measure if they could know with {259} what fidelity, and
sweetness, and joy to the good man she performed the promise she gave
in Magawisca’s prison, “that she would be a child to his old age.” If
they are still discontented with the arrangement, let them perform an
action of equal kindness, and they will learn, from experience, that
our heroine had her reward.
Digby never ceased, after the event had verified them, to pride
himself on his own presentiments and his wife’s dreams. A friendship
between him and Everell and Hope subsisted through his life, and
descended, a precious legacy, through many generations of their
descendants, fortified by favours on the one part, and gratitude on
the other, and reciprocal affection.
Barnaby Tuttle, and his timely compliance with her wishes, were not
forgotten by our heroine. Persuaded by her advice, and enabled by an
annual stipend from her to do so, he retired from his solitary post of
jailer, and passed his old age comfortably with his daughter Ruth,
versifying psalms, and playing with the little Tuttles.
After the passage of two or three years, Miss Downing returned to
New-England, and renewed her intercourse with Everell and Hope,
without any other emotions on either side than those which belong to
warm and tender friendship. Her personal loveliness, Christian graces,
and the high rank she held in the colony, rendered her an object of
very general attraction.
Her hand was often and eagerly sought, but she {260} appears never to
have felt a second engrossing attachment. The current of her purposes
and affections had set another way. She illustrated a truth, which, if
more generally received by her sex, might save a vast deal of misery:
that marriage is not _essential_ to the contentment, the dignity, or
the happiness of woman. Indeed, those who saw on how wide a sphere her
kindness shone, how many were made better and happier by her
disinterested devotion, might have rejoiced that she did not
“Give to a party what was meant for mankind.”
NOTES.
{261}
(7.) “That gentleman, sir, is the apostle of New-England.”--Page 156.
We believe we have anticipated, by three or four years, this title, so
well earned and generally bestowed. We cannot pass the hallowed name
of Eliot without pausing earnestly to beseech our youthful readers to
study his history, in which they will find exemplified, from youth to
extreme old age, the divine precepts of his Master. He was the _first
Protestant_ missionary to the Indians; for nearly half a century their
instructer, friend, and father; and when, during the war with the
terrific Philip of Mount Hope, fear had turned every hand and heart
against them, and their utter extinction was regarded by most as
necessary to the salvation of the English colonies, Eliot was still
their indefatigable and fearless advocate. The Christian
philanthropist will delight to follow this good man through his
diocess of Indian churches; to see him surrounded by his simple
catechumens, dealing out the bread of life to them; to go with him to
his “prophet’s chamber” at Natick--that apartment prepared by the love
of his Indian disciples, and consecrated by his prayers; and, finally,
to stand by his bedside when, in extreme old age, like his prototype
“the beloved apostle,” all other affections had melted into a flame of
love. “Alas!” he said, “I have lost everything. My understanding
leaves me. My memory--my utterance fails me; but I thank God my
charity holds out still. I find that grows rather than fails.”
His name has been appropriately given to a flourishing missionary
station, where the principle on which he at all times insisted is
acted upon, viz., “that the Indians must be civilized, as well as, if
not in order to, their being Christianized.” This Principle has no
opposers in our age; and we cannot but hope that the present
enlightened labours of the followers of Eliot will be rewarded with
such success as shall convert the faint-hearted, the cold, and the
skeptical into ardent promoters of missions to the Indian race.
(8.) “I know,” she said, “that it contains thy rule.”--Page 165.
This reply of Magawisca we have somewhere seen given as the genuine
answer of an Indian to the solicitation of a missionary, but are not
able now to refer to our authority.
(9.) “Moscutusett.”
Among the various conjectures respecting the etymology of the word
Massachusetts, the following, communicated by Neal, appears the most
satisfactory: “The sachem who governed this part of the country had
his seat on a hill, about two leagues to the southward of Boston. It
lies in the shape of an Indian arrow-head, which is called, in their
language, ‘Mos’ or ‘Mons.’ A hill, in their language, is ‘Wetusett,’
pronounced Wechusett; hence the great sachem’s seat was called
‘Moscutusett,’ from whence, with a small variation, the province
received the name of Massachusetts.”--_Hist. of Boston_.
This hill is in the town of Quincy, and now known by the name of
“Sachem’s Hill.”
THE END.
ENDNOTES.
[1] A fact gravely stated in Governor Winthrop’s journal.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
The George Routledge & Co. edition (London, 1850) was consulted for
most of the changes listed below.
Archaic/obsolete spellings (alchymy, bucaniers, chints, suiter, etc.)
have been preserved.
Page numbers are given in {curly brackets}.
The notes pertaining to the first volume have been moved there. The
note numbering is otherwise unchanged, hence this volume’s notes
start at 7.
Alterations to the text:
Add ToC.
Convert footnote to endnote.
Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings.
[Title Page]
Add author’s name and move epigraph to a following page.
[Chapter I]
Change “parting on that horrid rock, he first heard you _was_ living!”
to _were_.
[Chapter II]
“Ah. Wilton, you would not ask why if you could see my” change the
period to a comma.
[Chapter V]
“and my ave-_maries_, but I get no heart’s ease” to _marias_.
[Chapter X]
“we may trust your _wildwood bird_; her flights are somewhat” to _wild
wood-bird_.
[End of text]