 CHAPTER 17 Pine Tree Shillings There is one very pretty story told of those early days of the Massachusetts colony. The only money in use among the people was the gold and silver coins which were made in England and Spain. These coins were very scarce, so that the people had to trade in goods when they wished to make a purchase, instead of being able to pay in money as we do now. That is, if in those days you had wanted to buy a yard of ribbon, or a top, or a ball, you would very likely have paid for it with butter or eggs, anything that you happened to own that the storekeeper was willing to take. But as the people were growing more and more in number and trade increased, this kind of bartering grew very troublesome. The people needed some sort of money, and so a law was passed, a kind of coin was decided upon, and Captain John Hull was made mint master. The largest of these coins had stamped upon them a picture of a pine tree. This is why they were called pine tree shillings. As payment for his work, it was decided that the mint master should have one out of every twenty coins he made. Captain John Hull was an honest man, and although he put aside for himself only one in every twenty coins, his strong boxes got to be very, very heavy. Captain Hull had a daughter, a fine, plump, hearty girl, with whom young Samuel Sewell fell in love. As Samuel was a young man of good character, industrious and honest, Captain Hull readily gave his consent to their marriage. Yes, you may take her, he said in his rough way, and you'll find her a heavy burden enough. In due time the wedding day arrived. There were John Hull dressed in a plum-coloured coat with bright silver buttons made of the pine tree shillings, the bridegroom dressed in a fine purple coat and gold lace waistcoat, big silver buckles on his shoes, and last but by no means least the fair bride herself, looking as plump and smiling and rosy as a big red apple. After the marriage ceremony was over, Captain Hull whispered to his men-servants, who at once left the room, to return soon with a great pair of scales. Everybody wondered what could be going to happen. Daughter, said the mint master, get into one of those scales, then turning to his servants, and pointing to a big iron-bound box, he added, bring hither the chest. The servants tugged and pulled at it, but it was all they could do to get it across the floor. Then Captain Hull unlocked it and threw open the cover. The guests stood breathless for, behold, the chest was full of bright shining pine tree shillings. Put them into the other side of the scales, lively now, said the mint master, laughing, as he saw the look of amazement on the faces of the people. Jingle-jingle went the shillings, as handful after handful were thrown in, till big and plump as she was, the fair young bride was lifted from the floor. There, son Sewol, said the honest mint master, take these shillings for my daughter's portion, use her kindly, and thank God for her. It isn't every wife that's worth her weight in silver. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of American History Stories, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Colinda. American History Stories, Volume 1 by Myra L. Pratt. Chapter 18. Education in the Colonies. Governor Winthrop, the first governor of the Massachusetts Bay colony, had, living in England, a sister of whom he was very fond. He often wrote letters to her and to her husband, who was also a warm friend of Governor Winthrop, begging them to leave the old country and come with their children to the new colony where there was more than enough of all the good things of life. The sister and her husband, too, would gladly have come, and indeed were often almost persuaded to do so, but they were very intelligent people for these times and prized education above all things. On this account, because there were no colleges in America in which her boys could be educated, she hesitated year after year. Often she would write to her brother, saying that, by and by, when the little colony should have means for the education of her boys, she would gladly come. Another time she would write that she believed the value of education was above all things, and that therefore she must stay in England until the boys were educated. All these letters set Governor Winthrop to thinking. Would it not be well for the colony to found a college? Surely there were other youth than his nephews who would be glad of a college education. At last a letter came which seemed to set Governor Winthrop to work as well as to thinking. This letter, written in the early part of 1636, was but another appeal from his sister for a college in Massachusetts. It is a quaintly written letter spelled after the fashion of the times. In it she says, if only there were some place of learning for youths it would make me go far nimbler to New England if God should call me to it than I otherwise should, and I believe a college would put no small life into the plantation. In October of this very year Governor Winthrop had convinced those who controlled such things in the colony that a college should be built. The money was raised and work on the building was begun at once. The college building, a square red brick building with low ceilings and little windows, was considered a very elegant structure at the time. It still stands on the college land in Cambridge, surrounded by the great brick buildings which have from time to time been added to it. This will show you how much these early colonists thought of education. In fact, as early as 1635, only five years after the settlement of Boston, steps were taken to open a public school for the children of that town. CHAPTER XIX. Salem witchcraft. No one knows when the belief in witches first sprang up in Europe. There was a time when James the First was king, that England was wild with excitement over witchcraft. The people believed there were witches in the forests, in the rivers, in the air, and I don't know where else. They stood in mortal fear of them, and believed every strange old woman they saw might be a witch and about to work some evil charm on them. It is no wonder that from time to time witch excitement sprang up in the colonies. They died out soon, however, without much harm being done. But in the year 1692, there sprang up such a fire of excitement over the witch belief that no power seemed able to quell it. It seemed strange to us in these days that grown-up men and women could be so foolish. These people believed that the cause of witchcraft was the devil. When a person was bewitched, that meant that the devil had taken possession of that person, and was making him do the most terrible things. The devil, they believed, was an enormous creature with a long tail, a pair of horns, and terrible hooves. He could take all sorts of shapes, and was often known to take the form of a goose or a black cat. The excitement over witchcraft in Salem seems to have started in a minister's family. One day his little girl began to behave very strangely. The minister, being a strong believer in witchcraft, declared at once that the child was bewitched. He begged the child to tell him who had bewitched her, and the child, frightened half out of her wits by her father's terrible stories, cried out that it was a certain old woman who lived nearby. The poor old woman was brought into the presence of the children. The child, excited as she was now, probably, believed that the old woman had indeed afflicted her. And frightened still more when she was brought before her, the child fell into convulsions. This, the minister thought, was sure proof, and the poor old woman was loaded with chains and thrown into prison. Soon others in Salem began to declare themselves bewitched. If the butter would not come, the housewives declared there were witches in their churns. If the animals on the farms died, it was said to be the work of witches. Every possible disaster was laid at the door of witchcraft. Although the excitement over witchcraft was highest and hottest in Salem, there was no small amount of it in all the other towns. In the town of Boston it took such a firm hold upon the people that an educated woman, the sister of one of the governors, one who had therefore hosts of friends who used their power and influence to save her, was hanged as a witch on Boston Common. This woman, Mrs. Anne Hibbins, was the wife of a wealthy merchant in Boston. Mrs. Hibbins had, we fear, a very proud, selfish disposition which caused her neighbors to dislike her most heartily. Being the wife of a wealthy merchant, she rather looked down upon her more humble friends and was not at all careful to hide her feelings from them. When she and her husband were quite old there came a long line of business troubles which swept away their money, leaving them as poor as the poorest of their neighbors. Mrs. Hibbins' craved disposition did not grow any sweeter under this misfortune, you may be sure. She grew to be so ugly and so cruel to the little children that they would run screaming to their mothers if she came towards them. She had very sharp eyes and ears and seemed to see and hear all that happened in the town. She was also very keen and was sure to ferret out the very boy who stole her apples or stoned her cat or broke her windows. At last the mothers began whispering that they believed she was a witch. The devil himself tells her these things, said they, else how does she know everything that happens? As they grew to fear her more and more, they began really to believe that she was a witch. Many a mother would run into her house and hide her baby if the cross old woman was seen coming. Soon her neighbors became so sure that she was a witch that they went to the town officers about it, and in a very, very short time all Boston was filled with fear of this unhappy old woman whose selfish, proud heart had made her such a disagreeable object. This fear of her having broken out, it was not long before the people began to clamor for her death. Every accident in the town was laid to her. Every sickness in the homes was laid to her. Every trouble in the church was laid to her. At last she was publicly accused and thrown into prison. Her brother, who stood high in the colony, made no effort to save her. Her three sons, whom she loved with all the tenderness of which she was capable, were all away and knew nothing of her arrest, and so the poor old woman, who had once held her head so high, was dragged forth from her prison, tried, and sentenced to be hanged. After she was hanged the people went back to their homes satisfied that in hanging a witch they had done a good deed, one which the heavenly father would reward them for. It doesn't seem possible that only two hundred years ago people could have been so cruel and so foolish. By and by not only poor old women were accused, but young people, some of them from the leading families in the colonies. Everybody had accepted this wicked belief, doubting not so long as when no one but poor, friendless old women had been accused. But when at last the young people and the wealthy people who had friends to defend them began to suffer, and the people began to come to their senses. How do we know that this man saw a goody-glover flying on a broomstick? How do we know that he saw Martha Corey turn into a black cat? How do we know that he saw children ride up the stairs on a white horse? They began to ask when people came forth at a witch's trial to testify to these wonderful sites. We do not know, the judges at last honestly declared, and from that time the witchcraft excitement began to die away. One of the chief believers in this cruel nonsense was a prominent minister named Cotton Mather. It is said, however, that when he became old he deeply regretted the part he had taken in it, and frankly confessed that he would give years to undo the harm he had done. CHAPTER XXXI OF AMERICAN HISTORY STORIES VOLUME 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER XXXI. Religious Troubles. One might think, after all the Puritans had suffered because of their desire to have their own style of church worship, that they would be perfectly willing to let all other people have the same freedom that they themselves had sought. But this was not the way of people thought in those days. Believe what you wish, they would say. Only please do not come among our people. With all the trouble the Puritans had to contend against, they may be excused for speaking thus. Enemies were on all sides of them, as well as in England, and it seemed absolutely necessary to them that they should be united among themselves. But there were people of other beliefs who had also found it uncomfortable to live under the strict laws of England, and who preferred to come to a new world where they thought they could do more as they pleased. Their ways, however, were not the ways of the Puritans, so naturally they were not very welcome. In 1631, a young minister named Roger Williams came to the colony, and he soon began to give the Puritan leaders much trouble. He thought that people should worship where they pleased, and he publicly said so. But what was still worse, he preached that the early settlers had no right to the very land they lived on unless they bought that land of the Indians. Surely the Puritans said we have enough trouble with the Indians without putting this new idea into their heads. As was the case with troublesome people in those days, Roger Williams was ordered out of the country, fearing that if caught, he might be sent back to England, he made his escape into the deep forests. It was midwinter, but the Indians welcomed and protected him. He gradually made his way to that part of the country now called Rhode Island. Here, in 1636, he purchased land of the Indians, and before very long, many of his friends in Salem followed him and made a settlement. They built a town and named it Providence. In this colony, it was declared that everyone should be free to worship as he pleased. There, for the first time in the history of the world, all people were allowed to act as seemed to them best in their own churches. Roger Williams, meanwhile, did not forget the kindness of the Indians. After he had learned to speak their language, he spent much of his time with them, teaching them to read and work. You may be sure, his people all love this goodwill, meaning man. At one time, when he had been away in England nearly two years, the whole colony crossed the river to meet him as he returned. The old men and the young men and the old women and the young women and all the children met him with flowers and songs and every sign of joy. Roger Williams' kind old heart was touched when he saw how his people loved him, and he was not ashamed to let the tears run down his cheeks as he thanked them for their love. Meanwhile, there had sprung up in England another class of people under the leadership of George Fox, who went much further in their idea of simple form of church worship than even the Puritans had. These people, called friends, would have no form at all. They believed it was best and most pleasing to God to go into their little churches with no minister, no singing, no praying, and sit there, perfectly quiet, fixing their minds only on holy things. This, compared with the elaborate form of worship in the English church, was certainly a great change to say the least. The English church, which thought the Puritans had been foolish enough, thought these last people more than foolish. They thought them mad. There is a funny little story connected with these friends, which shows later how they came to receive their peculiar name of Quakers. It is said that one of these people was brought for trial before an English judge. The English judge, having been rather severe, the Quaker turned to him and said, Thus thou not Quake with fear before the great judge, who this day hath heard thy cruel judgment upon his chosen people? But just then the Quaker, who was very nervous and excitable, began to shiver and shake and quake to such an extent that the whole court burst into a roar of laughter. From that time these people were nicknamed Quakers. In due time the Quakers were driven from England, as the Puritans had been before them. They, too, came over to America, hoping to find freedom to worship God in the way they thought best. It was about thirty-five years after the Mayflower entered Plymouth Harbor that the first Quakers came. There had been many changes in the colonies in that time. The little children had now come to be middle-aged men and women with children of their own. The men and women who had done the hard work of settling the little home at Plymouth had now grown to be quite old, and very, very many of them had long since been laid away in the quaint little burying ground. Many, many other men and women had come over from England, so that now, instead of thinking of a few people living in their huts at Plymouth, you must think of little towns all along the coast, having residences, stores, churches, and schools, all of which were quite fair buildings for the time. The old South Church, the old North Church, and King's Chapel, which stand now in Boston, were built in these early times. The newcomers, the Quakers, were strange in their looks and in their manners, it is true, but so were the Puritans, as to that matter. Then, too, in their enthusiasm, they often forgot the rights of the Puritans in whose town they were living. And so it came about that the Puritans had these Quakers whipped in the streets. They cut off their ears and their noses. They put cleft sticks upon their tongues to keep them from speaking, and they punished them in many other ways. Until within a few years, there stood on the beautiful common in Boston an elm tree, to whose boughs the Puritans hanged a woman named Mary Dyer, not so much because she was a Quaker and preached the Quaker doctrines, but because she insisted on preaching on the streets and indirect defiance of the laws of Boston. And surely we have to admit that the Puritans thought they had a right to enforce their own laws. Only, of course, punishments were very severe. Still, we must remember they would have used these same punishments on their own people had they broken the same laws. The one thing that exasperated the Puritans with the Quakers above all other things was the fact that the Quakers allowed the women to preach and pray as they liked. A preaching woman, said the Puritans, is a disgrace to religion, away with such. You can imagine, therefore, how annoyed the Puritans were with Mary Dyer when she insisted on preaching. For a time, Mary Dyer lived quietly in Rhode Island, but when she heard of the cruel treatment of the Quakers in Boston, she was determined to go to their aid. Twice was she driven from the town and threatened with hanging if she came again. But Mary Dyer was fearless. Her one thought was that her friends, the Quakers, were in prison, many of them dying of fever and hunger. A third time she entered the town. She was at once seized, brought before the judge, and condemned to be hanged. Many friends begged that she might be spared, but the judge would not yield. On the 27th of October, 1659, Boston Common was to witness the hanging of a woman. The streets were thronged with people, all anxious to get even one glance at the unhappy Quakeress. By her sidewalk, two young men, also Quakers, who were to be hanged with her. It was one of these who first ascended the fatal ladder. As he was speaking of his faith and his willingness to die, someone in the crowd called out, Hold thy tongue, art thou going to die with a lie in thy mouth? Soon the other young man was led forth. As the rope was being fastened, he cried, Know, all ye, that we die not for wrongdoing, but for conscience's sake. And then the judge called Mary Dyer. Her two friends were hanging dead before her eyes. Fearlessly, she mounted the scaffold and quietly allowed the hangman to fasten the blindfold and the rope. All was ready. The great crowd stood breathless. The hangman raised his hand to give the signal. When there was her to cry from the distance, Stop, stop, she is reprieved. The governor has reprieved her. Shouts of joy rang through the common, mingled with hisses from those who had longed to see her hanged. She was taken back to the prison where she was received by her brave son, who looked upon her as one brought back from death. He it was who had besought the governor to save his mother, and at last won from him her reprieve. Joyfully, the son carried away the mother to their home in Rhode Island. I wish I could tell you that the good woman lived out her days there with her brave boy, happy and free. But it was not so. Before many months had passed, again she was seized with the idea that it was her duty to go again to Boston and speak for her people. Nothing could keep her from it. Even the prayers and tears of her son, who loved her so, could not prevail upon her to give up the dangerous journey. Hardly was she within the limits of the city before she was seized upon by the officers and again carried before the judge. The judge, exasperated with her foolhardiness as he called it, offered her once more her choice between hanging and promising to leave the colony forever. She would not accept the chance to escape and was sentenced to be hanged on the morrow at nine o'clock. Half-wild with grief, Mary's husband begged the judge to save her once more. But the judge, saying that she had made her own fate, would not change her sentence. At the appointed hour the officer led her forth from the prison to the common and there before the eyes of a great number of people she was hanged, declaring with her last breath that she was giving her life not for any wrong act of hers, but for her religion's sake. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of American History Stories Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda American History Stories Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 21 William Penn The Quakers of England certainly were in great need at this time of someone who would call them together and find for them a place of safety. Such a leader appeared at last. This leader was William Penn. He was the son of Admiral Penn of the English Navy. Admiral Penn had been brought up to believe only in the English Church and to hold and contempt all such people as Puritans and Quakers. Imagine that father's astonishment when his son, having returned from college, came before him dressed in the queer garb of a Quaker and told him that he had resolved to join these much abused people. The old gentleman was horrified. He scolded and he argued, he raved and he threatened, but not one whit was the son moved by at all. He sent him abroad hoping that the gay life at Paris and other great cities of Europe would cure him of this foolish freak he had taken. Penn came back to England still a Quaker. His father's patience was now exhausted. He allowed Penn to live in the house but he would have nothing to say to him and for years would not even look at him. When his father died, Penn made up a large party of Quakers to come to America. On August 31st, 1682 he set sail from Deal, England in the Good Ship Welcome and after a voyage of two months arrived at Newcastle on the Delaware on October 27th, 1682 and immediately began a settlement. To this settlement he gave the name Philadelphia, which means brotherly love. In payment of a debt owed to Penn's father, King Charles of England had already granted to Penn that tract of land which we now call Pennsylvania. Still, Penn was not willing to take the land from the Indians without paying them also for it. He held a council with them under a large elm tree. There he made a treaty with them and the agreements were made peaceably and honestly. Think what a strange picture it must have made. There was the Englishman in his long skirted coat with blue sash and broad hat, while all around him stood the Indians, gorgeous in their feathers and war paint, glittering with strings of wampum and wrapped about with furs. Like Roger Williams, Penn was always loved and reverenced by the Indians. The great elm under which the treaty was made has long since decayed and fallen, but in its place today stands a monument which tells the story of Penn and the treaty. This treaty of peace made between the Quakers and the Indians had no other than the blue sky, the bright sun, and the forests for witnesses. But the Indians were a true-hearted race and if they were treated with any degree of fairness whatever were ready and willing to be honorable in their dealings with the white man. There was a simple gratitude about them that was like a child's, and it is a pity that other white men, not Quakers, had not wisdom enough to deal fairly with these simple-sold people. The history of this treaty was kept by the Indians by means of their strings of wampum, and long afterwards they would tell the story over to their children, bidding them always in their fights and war makings to remember their father's promises to the good Quaker William Penn. And so it was that in the years that followed, when war was raging on every side in all the surrounding states, not one drop of Quaker blood was ever spilled. There is a little story told of how one Quaker saved the lives of many families about him. One morning some Indians incensed at the behaviour of certain colonists up the river, fiercely set forth in full war dress, war paint and all, cruelly bent upon revenge. On the borders of the river, toward which they strode, lived a good Quaker and his family. As the Indians approached, the Quaker went forth to greet them. Knowing how honourably the treaty with the Quakers was held by these red men, the Quaker had no fear for his own family. But they mean bloodshed to the colonists up the river, I am sure, said he to his wife. I must try to turn them back. So generous in Frank was the Quakers greeting that the fierce warriors, thirsting as they were for blood, melted in the warm sunlight of his gentle heart, and turned back to their wigwams, the massacre given up for that day at least. As they went away, one of the Indians climbed up on the little porch over the door and fastened there the white feather of peace, which was a mark among these Indians that the house upon which that was placed should never, under any provocation, be molested. War raged on every side in the days that followed, many cruel deeds were done, and hundreds of colonists were slain, but the good Quaker and his family dwelt in safety and slept without fear of harm from their savage neighbours. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of American History Stories This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda American History Stories, Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 22 Indian Troubles During these hundred years or more, from the founding of the Plymouth Colony in 1620, there had been continual trouble with the Indians. The Indians, you remember, were kind to the white men at first, but after the white men began to be cruel and hard to them, they too grew hard and cruel, and there seemed nothing too terrible for the Indians to do in revenge. The newcomers thought that these Indians had very strange ways of carrying on their battles. They never came out and met the enemy face to face in battle array as the white men were then used to doing, but would skulk around behind trees and swamps or in the high grass. When the white men first used muskets and gunpowder, the Indians were terribly frightened, but it was not long before they themselves learned to use them. One day an old Indian chief begged some gunpowder from a white man and ran away to his wigwam with it. The white man watched to see what he would do with it. When he reached his wigwam, he called some of his friends about him, and after a long council together they began to plant the powder. They thought it would grow like corn and beans. When an Indian killed a white man in battle, he always tried to tear off the skin from the top of the white man's head. These were called scalps. The more scalps he could get, the braver he thought he was. After a battle he would show the scalps with great pride to the people of his village. These Indians were a very wandering people, never staying in one place very long at a time. When they made up their minds to move, down the tents, strap their babies onto their backs, and trudge on the best they could, carrying on their shoulders the poles and household wares, the mats and the furs. The men would march on ahead with nothing but their bows and arrows. Sometimes the poor women would sink under their heavy loads. Then the men would beat them and kick them until the poor things would rise and struggle on again. When the Indians reached a place which looked pleasant for a camping ground, the men would throw themselves down upon the ground in a sunny place and lie there, smoking and napping, while the women set up the tents and got the camps in order. The men treated the women like slaves. They expected them to do all the work, such as planting the corn, building the tents, carrying the baggage, while they did nothing but hunt and fish and smoke and fight. But in reading of this life of the Indians, let us judge them not too harshly. They were cruel to the women and girl children, that is true, but it was because they knew no better, rather than because they meant to be cruel. Remember, they were rude, rough people, accustomed to war and to fighting. Surrounded on all sides by enemies, they grew to regard physical strength and skill in overcoming an enemy as the highest virtue in the world, and consequently, they had come to look upon women as a very little account— good enough to do the cooking and the drudgery of wigwam life, but that was all. They had never learned that men and women, boys and girls, were to be judged and valued by something better and higher than mere brute force. Good to squaw, exclaimed an Indian in surprise, when one of the colonists had rebuked him for his treatment of his wife, she no fight, no scalp, and I suppose no argument could have convinced the Indian that he was wrong, or that, since she couldn't either fight nor scalp, it was worthwhile to make of her anything better than a slave or a servant. The Puritans, you will remember, landed at Plymouth one cold December day. A few Indians had been seen on the top of the hill when they first landed, but they had fled at the sight of the white men, and were not seen again for some time. Glad indeed were the white men that they did not again appear until they got their log cabins built, in which their wives and children might be safe from the arrows of these strange red men. Weeks passed by. At last, one morning in March, when the Puritans were holding a town meeting, Indians stalked a solitary Indian. The Puritans were not overjoyed to see him, you may be sure. They waited for him to speak. Solemly he looked about upon them all, and then cried. Welcome, Englishmen! Welcome, Englishmen! These were indeed welcome words. For a minute before, the white men instead breathless, wondering whether this stranger was about to declare peace or war upon them. Samuset, for that was the name of this visitor, was a tall, straight man with long black hair, and was arrayed in feathers and furs, and coloured with bright paints, as was the custom of these savages. Samuset was so delighted with the manner in which the white men received him, that he speedily declared his intention of staying with them all night. The white men did not relish that, but not daring to displease him, they made him comfortable for the night in one of the cabins, and kept watch over him until morning. At sunrise he was ready to return to his home, and the Puritans gladly bade him farewell. I am afraid Samuset hasn't very many ideas of what we call etiquette. He did not wait for the Puritans to return his call, but appeared again the very next day, bringing with him five other Indians. The Puritans were annoyed with this second visit. However, they gave them all food and drink, after which the six Indians danced and sang in a fashion peculiar to themselves. At night the five Indians went away, but Samuset had made up his mind to stay longer with his new friends. A few days later, seeing that he had no idea of going home, the Puritans sent him to find Massa Soet, who, as Samuset had told them, was the chief of the Indian tribes in that neighborhood, the Wampanox. Soon Massa Soet the chief came, with sixty armed and painted warriors, terrible to look at in their feathers and paint. But Massa Soet did not come to fight. He wanted peace between his tribe and the strange people. After a little talk he sat down with John Carver, the governor of this little colony, smoked the pipe of peace with him and promised to befriend the colony as long as he should live. This treaty he always kept, and as he was a very powerful chief, the Puritans were safe from Indian attack as long as he lived. It was after his death that their real trouble with Indians began. South of the Plymouth colony there lived a tribe of Indians who hated Massa Soet's tribe. They also hated white men. Therefore you may know that when they learned that Massa Soet was protecting these Puritans they were doubly angry. For a long time they annoyed the colonists in little ways, but there had been no real trouble. At last one day there marched into the village a huge Indian covered with his war paint and carrying in his hand a long snake skin. This skin he presented to William Bradford who was now governor of the colony telling him that in the snake skin was a bundle of arrows. And what does that mean? inquired Bradford. War! War! War! yelled the messenger. Very well, said Bradford calmly, you may take this back to your chief. And as he spoke he emptied the skin of its arrows and filled it full of shot and gunpowder. This means, said Bradford, that if your chief comes to us with arrows we will come to him with gunpowder and shot. The messenger understood and snatching the skin he ran out of the village to his home. There was no more trouble with that tribe of Indians. One day word came to the Puritans that Massasoit was dying and that he wished to see the white men once more. Quickly one of the Puritans Edward Winslow who knew considerable about medicine hastened to Massasoit's home. He found the tent in which Massasoit lay so full of people that the sick man could hardly breathe. These Indians, both men and women, were howling and dancing around him, trying, so they said, to drive away the bad spirits which were giving him pain. This was a custom of theirs when an Indian was ill. If the sick man recovered they believed it was because their noises had scared away the evil spirits. If he did not recover it was because they had not made a noise great enough. When Winslow arrived he set to work to do all he could to relieve the poor chief who was suffering from high fever. In two or three days Massasoit was quite well again. The Indians looked upon the cure as a miracle and families came from miles and miles around to see the wonderful medicine man. No one was more glad of Massasoit's recovery than the white man himself, for all knew that if Massasoit died the tribes of Indians on all sides would at once rush upon the white settlements, burn the houses, scalp the men, and carry away the women and children as captives. And this did happen within a very few years. After Massasoit's death the Indians began to grow jealous of the increasing power of the white men. They were being gradually driven from all their hunting grounds. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of American History Stories Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kalinda American History Stories Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 23 King Philip's War Many tribes of Indians under the leadership of their chief Philip banded together and vowed that they would not rest until every white man was driven from the country. There were so many Indians in this league that it seemed for a time as if their threat would indeed be carried out. The first attack was made upon the people of Swansea. The people had all been gathered together in their little church which you remember was more like a fort than a church. As they came out and were walking slowly homeward suddenly there was heard the Indian war whoop and in an instant there burst out from the forest troops of Indians armed with guns, arrows, clubs, tomahawks anything with which a deadly blow could be given. After this the Indians fell upon all the towns and upon the farms scattered about over the country. If you ever read the history of King Philip's War you will find it full of terrible stories of the cruelty of these Indians and of stories sad, sad stories of the poor women and children who were cruelly murdered or dragged away to be made slaves of. The Indians were continually on the watch. When men went out to work they would be shot down by an unseen foe. The women at work in their homes would be shot by a ball or an arrow coming in through the window. King Philip's right-hand man in this war was Anawan. He it was who in the midst of the fire of battle could be heard shouting to his men Ayutash, Ayutash meaning stand to it, stand to it. At last in August 1676 King Philip was surrounded in a swamp at Mount Hope and killed. Now said the colonists if we could capture or kill Anawan we should be safe. Finding that Anawan had made his camp in another swamp nearby. Captain Church one of the bravest of the colonists set out with a companion and some Indian guides to find it. Soon they came inside of it. Down in a deep recess among the hills. There lay Anawan himself stretched out before his tent half asleep. Slowly and quietly they climbed down and before Anawan even knew of their presence Captain Church stepped across the chief's body and took him prisoner. Meantime the followers of Captain Church went to the other Indians lying about before their campfires and told them that their chief was taken that there were hundreds of white men just outside the camp and that their lives should be spared if they would surrender at once. Captain Church exhausted with his long march now lay down close to Anawan and slept throwing his foot over Anawan so that the least movement would awaken him. For two hours the Captain slept. When he woke he found Anawan lying with eyes wide open staring at him. At last Anawan arose and stalked off into the forest. As he had surrendered his arms Captain Church allowed him to go wondering what he would do next. Soon he returned bringing a war belt which had belonged to the Indian chief King Philip. Laying it at Captain Church's feet he said Great Captain you kill King Philip you capture me now the war is ended this belt belong to you. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of American History Stories Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda American History Stories Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 24 French and Indian War From 1754 to 1763 there was a bitter war carried on between the French aided by the Indians on one side and the English aided by her colonies on the other. We shall pass very quickly over this war which though very important does not chance to have so very many stories for young people in it. One of the first attacks in this war was made on the French settlement in Acadia. I wish you were old enough to read the beautiful story of Evangeline as it is told by our long fellow. By and by I hope you will read it and will learn to love this beautiful Evangeline who was so cruelly driven from her home in Acadia. In the beautiful basin of the Minas was a quiet little French village. The people of this village were peaceful home loving families and took no part in the war on either side. The English colonists however fearing that they might by and by be persuaded to join the French forces made up their minds to break up this village and scatter the people. One bright morning the English officers came into the village and demanded that the people be gathered in the churches to hear a message which the English brought to them. The people all left their work and flocked to the churches. The farmer left his harvest field the blacksmith is Anvil the wife and maiden their spinning wheels. No sooner were all the people within the churches than they were surrounded by British soldiers hustled down to the water side and crowded on board the ships like so many herds of sheep. Oh it was a cruel deed. Families were torn apart wives lost their husbands mothers lost their little ones brothers and sisters lovers and maidens were doomed never to meet each other again. Pideous were the cries of these poor people but the soldiers only laughed at their grief. As they sailed out from the harbor they saw the soft September sky all one terrible glare of flame. Then they knew that their last hope was gone. Their beautiful homes were burned. This the cruel soldiers had done lest the poor Acadians might try to wander back to their old home in this beautiful basin of the Minas. When these vessels reached the New England coast the unhappy people were put ashore here and there at different places from New England to Virginia that there might be no more possibility of their banding together again. Very few of them ever met their dear ones again and many died of homesickness and heartbreak. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of American History Stories Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda American History Stories Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 25 George Washington in the French and Indian War I suppose every child in America knows about George Washington. Indeed I hardly dare offer you a story about this man lest you say oh don't bother we know all about him. And very likely you do. But let's read this one story together. When the French and Indian War broke out George Washington was a young man only about as old as those big boys that you see coming now and then from their colleges to spend their vacations at home. George Washington, you remember, lived in Virginia. The governor of Virginia at that time was Governor Dinwiddy. It became very necessary to get a message to the commander of the French forts on the Ohio River. And as Washington had already made a name for himself being a brave, honest, trustworthy lad Governor Dinwiddy chose him to go on this important journey with the message. It was a terrible journey and one that was full of danger. Very likely Washington would have been quite willing to be excused from this task. But as it must be done and somebody must do it, he bravely and willingly accepted the trust. It was in the winter time and his journey lay over mountains through forests and across rivers where very likely no white man had ever been before. One night he and his companion worked till daylight making a rude raft with which to cross a narrow river too deep to forward expecting every minute an attack from the savages of the forests. Lossing in his life of Washington gives the following account of this journey. I was unwilling rites the guide I was unwilling rites the guide that he should undertake such a march. But as he insisted on it we set out with our packs like Indians and traveled 18 miles. That night we lodged at an Indian cabin and the major was much fatigued. It was very cold. All the small streams were frozen so that we could hardly get water to drink. At two o'clock the next morning they were again on foot and pressed forward until they struck the southeast branch of Beaver Creek at a place called Murdering Town the scene probably of some Indian massacre. Here we met with an Indian whom I thought I had seen when on our journey up to the French Fort. The fellow called me by my Indian name and pretended to be glad to see me. He asked us several questions as how we came to travel on foot where we parted from our horses and when they would be there. Major Washington insisted upon traveling on the nearest way to the forks of the Allegheny. We asked the Indian if he could go with us and show us the nearest way. He seemed very glad and ready to do so, upon which we set out and he took the Major's pack. We traveled quite briskly for eight or ten miles. When the Major's feet grew very sore and heek very weary and the Indians steered too much northeastwardly the Major desired to encamp upon which the Indian asked to carry his gun but he refused that. Then the Indian grew chirrlish and pressed us to keep on telling us that there were Ottawa Indians in these woods and that they would scalp us if we lay out but to go to his cabin and we should be safe. I thought very ill of the fellow but did not care to let the Major know I mistrusted him but he soon mistrusted him as much as I. The Indian said he could hear a gun from his cabin and steered us more northwardly. We grew uneasy and then he said two whoops might be heard from his cabin. We went two miles farther. Then the Major said he would stay at the next water and we desired the Indian to stop there but before we came to water we came to a clear meadow. It was very light. Snow was on the ground. The Indian made a stop and turned about. The Major saw him point his gun toward us and fire. Said the Major are you shot? No. Said I. Upon which the Indian ran forward to a big standing white oak and began loading his gun but we were soon with him. I would have killed him but the Major would not suffer me. We let him charge his gun. We found he put in a ball and then we took care of him. Either the Major or I always stood by the guns. We made him make a fire for us by a little run as if we intended to sleep there. I said to the Major as you will not have him killed we must get him away and then we must travel all night. Upon which I said to the Indian I suppose you were lost and fired your gun. He said he knew the way to his cabin and it was but a little way. Well said I do you go home and as we are much tired we will follow your track in the morning. He was glad to get away. I followed him and listened until he was fairly out of the way and then we went about half a mile when we made a fire, set our compass and fixed our course and travel all night. In the morning we were on the head of Piney Creek. There is little reason to doubt that it was the intention of the Savage to kill one or both of them. The Fort on the Ohio was at last reached. Washington delivered his message to the Commander there who sent back a very insolent reply to Governor Dinmoody. The journey back was as hard and as dangerous as the journey to the Fort had been. It was accomplished however and the French Commanders replied delivered to Dinmoody. I will not try to tell you what these messages have been about but the one that Washington brought back from the Fort was such that the people of Virginia knew that the French were determined to fight and that war would surely follow. Quickly the Governor of Virginia prepared for war and sending word to the other colonies bade them be ready too. All the colonies bravely made ready to meet the foe. Even Georgia, settled only 20 years before, was ready to join hands with Virginia and Massachusetts the oldest colonies of all to give what help she could. To help the colonies England also sent over a large army of soldiers with General Braddock at the head. Now General Braddock felt himself to be a great man. Indeed he had made up his mind that as soon as he and his army arrived the whole war would be as good as over. He little knew what sort of people these Indians were with whom he was going to fight. He supposed that as soon as they caught sight of the great red-coated soldiers with him at their head they would be so overcome by fright that they would give up at once. Poo! said he the idea of Indians daring to fight with me. General Braddock's contempt for the colonists was as great as his contempt for the Indians. How he sneered when the sturdy colonists took their places among the redcoats as he drew up his forces in battle array. It is a wonder he didn't tell them to go to their homes while he started off through the forests with his troops alone. Washington who was at the head of the Virginia militia talked long and earnestly with Braddock trying to show him how impossible it would be to attempt to fight these Indians as he would fight a battle where the armies on both sides were trained soldiers. He told him the Indian way of fighting, how they never came out in battle array, how they always hid behind trees, in bushes, and in swamps. But Braddock only sneered. Do you suppose a general in the king's army needs advice from a boy like you, thought he, and I shouldn't be at all surprised if he said it, too. Now Washington and his Virginia troops were used to the ways of the Indians and when they saw that Braddock was determined to set out upon the journey to meet the Indians in the English fashion, they knew only too well what the result would be. Nevertheless, they made no complaint but were ready to start at Braddock's command. In the first place, there were the Virginia mountains to be climbed and the rivers to be forwarded. The English soldiers, used only to their level country, began to give out before the journey was half accomplished. Still, Braddock had not sense enough to see that it would be well to heed the advice of Washington and the other colonists. Perhaps the Indians can frighten such soldiers as you are, said he, sneering at the colonists, but they cannot frighten English soldiers. So they were marching on, in full battle array, drums beating and colors flying. Braddock's head was high in the air and he was very likely expecting to see the Indians advancing in the same manner. Suddenly, as his army was ascending a little slope with deeper veins and thick underbrush on either side, they were greeted with a terrible war-woop of the Indians. Arrows began to fly in every direction. Men were falling dead about him. Still, no enemy was to be seen. Where are they? Weekly asked the boasting general. The terrible war-woop resounded on every side. Well, might the general ask, where are they? They seemed to be everywhere. The British regulars huddled together and frightened, fired right and left at the trees and at the rocks. The Virginia troops alone, with Washington at their head, sprang into the forest, sinned into the bushes and met the Indians on their own ground. Washington seemed everywhere present. The Indians singled him out as they a special object for their shot. Four balls passed through his coat. Two horses were shot dead beneath him. Braddock was mortally wounded and was born from the field. Then, when the Virginia troops were nearly all killed, the British soldiers turned and fled disgracefully. Washington and his few men, seeing they were fleeing, turned again upon the Indians and by keeping them busy returning his fire, prevented them from pursuing the frightened British regulars. This battle was a terrible one to the British and the colonists. Nearly all of Washington's troops were killed and a great many of the English, the French and Indians on the other side lost very few. After this, the British were more willing to take the advice of the colonists who were so much more familiar with the ways of the Indians. Now, in this war, it was important that Quebec be taken from the French. To give you some idea of how Quebec was situated and how difficult it was to besiege it, perhaps nothing can help you more than the story of how the city came to be named Quebec. Away, back in these early times, when the French were sailing down the St. Lawrence and taking possession of what they saw in the name of France, by a turn in the river, they came suddenly into view of a great, sharp, overhanging cliff. Kell Beck cried one of the sailors, meaning, What a beak! Coming nearer, the leader saw that the top of this cliff would make a fine sight for a trading post. It would be difficult for the enemy to attack, and it would be an excellent watch tower from which to watch vessels passing on the river. Accordingly, the cliff was chosen for the trading post, and remembering the sailor's cry, the explorer gave it the name Quebec. When it afterwards became a city, you can see that it was indeed a watch tower for the people. If an enemy's vessel was seen approaching, the people were warned long before to reach them, and they, meantime, had plenty of opportunity to prepare for defense. Quebec must be taken, said the English officers. We can do nothing on the river with that city scowling down upon us, ready to attack our vessels as soon as they passed within the shadow of that great beak. And so it came about that General Wolfe was sent to attack this city of Quebec. Landing at night, two miles above the city, the soldiers climbed the steep banks of the river and stood at daybreak on the plains of Abraham. Mon calme, who held the city, was surprised, indeed, to see the English upon the plain in full battle array. But Mon calme was a brave soldier. And though he knew that in Wolfe he had a noble foe, he did not shrink from the encounter, which seemed likely from the beginning to be disastrous to the French. Towards ten o'clock the French advanced to the attack. Two cannons, which, with very great labour, the English had dragged up the path from the landing-place, at once opened fire upon the French. The advance was badly conducted. The French soldiers marched steadily on, but the native Canadians, firing as they advanced, threw themselves on the ground to reload, and this broke the order of the line. The English advanced some little distance to meet their foes, and then halted. Not a shot was fired until the French were within forty paces, and then, at the word of command, a volley of musketry crashed out along the whole length of the line. So regularly was the volley given that as the French officers afterwards said, it sounded like a single cannon shot. Another volley followed, then another, and another, and when the smoke cleared away, there lay the dead and wounded on every side. All order had been lost under the terrible fire. In three minutes the line of advancing soldiers was broken up into a disorderly shouting mob. Then Wolf gave the order to charge, and the British cheer, mingled with the wild yell of the Scotch Highlanders, rose loud and fierce. The English regiments advanced with leveled bayonets, the Highlanders drew their broadswords and rushed headlong forward. The fire was heaviest on the British right, where Wolf himself led the charge. A shot shattered his wrist. He wrapped his handkerchief around it and kept going. Another shot struck him, but he still advanced. When a third pierced his breast, he staggered and sat down. Two or three officers and men carried him to the rear and then laid him down and asked if they would send for a surgeon. There is no need, he said. It is all over with me. A moment later one of those standing by him cried out, They run! See how they run! Who run? Wolf asked. The enemy sir, they give way everywhere. Go, one of you to Colonel Burton, Wolf said. Tell him to march Webb's regiment down to the Charles River to cut off their retreat from the bridge. Then turning on his side, he said, Now God be praised, I die in peace. And a few minutes later he died. At almost the same moment, Molkan, mortally wounded, said to his surgeon, Have I much longer to live? No, answered the surgeon. Only a few moments I fear. So much the better, answered Molkan. I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec. This French and Indian war was carried on for about five years. There were many terrible battles, and thousands and thousands of brave men were killed on both sides. At last the British and the colonists won. Peace was made, and England now owned all the land from the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico and from the Atlantic to the Mississippi. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of American History Stories, Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Colinda American History Stories, Volume 1 by Mara L. Pratt Chapter 26 How the Colonies Grew United The close of this French and Indian war brings us close upon a period which is perhaps the most important in the whole history of our country. We are coming upon that great war known as the Revolutionary War. Revolution, you know, means a turning over, a changing about, and you will think before you get through that it was indeed a turning over and a changing about. Before we start upon that greater war, let us look over this country and see what sort of people and conditions we are going to deal with. During this French and Indian war, the people of the Thirteen Colonies had unconsciously been getting ready for the Revolution which was so near at hand. Before this war there had been a great deal of petty jealousy between the different colonies. Each had been jealous of the other's religion and customs. The Swedes didn't care to have much to do with the Dutch, and the Dutch were rather jealous of the Swedes. The Puritans and the Quakers had not quite forgotten the days of persecution. The Episcopalians of Virginia, the wealthy planters with their slaves, looked down upon the Northern colonists as a very common sort of people. But during this French and Indian war, all the colonies had fought side by side against a common foe, the Indians and French. They had grown more used to each other's ways. The Virginia Episcopalians had found that the Massachusetts Puritans were, after all, quite as brave and noble as they themselves were. While on the other side, these rigid Puritans had found the Virginians were true and honest-hearted and could make just as sturdy soldiers as were to be found in any colony. All these bitter feelings were gradually softened down, and at the end of the war, many a Puritan, Catholic, and Episcopalian had made warm friendships with one another, which no doubt lasted as long as they lived. Other things, too, had been working to bring them together. The British officers had, throughout the war, sneered at the colonists, and had plainly shown them that England considered them as a very inferior sort of people. Their wishes and their advice had been thrust aside in contempt, and their best officers had often been pushed out to make room for some young Englishman who knew no more about the work before him than a child. All these and many other influences had been at work to bring about in the colonists a more united brotherly feeling, while at the same time there had been creeping into their hearts and heads a feeling of rebellion against the injustice of England and a sense of strength in themselves, which by and by, as we shall soon see, broke out in that war between England and America, known as the Revolution.