 Chapter 35 About the same time as Gorgias was making laws for his little kingdom of New Hampshire, another English gentleman was doing much the same, from what farther south? This was Lord Baltimore. The first Lord Baltimore was a Yorkshire gentleman named Calvert. He was a favourite of James I, who made him a baron, and he took his title from a tiny village in Ireland. Like so many other men of his time, Lord Baltimore was interested in America, and wanted to found a colony there. First he tried to find one in Newfoundland. There he received a large grant of land, which he called Avalon, after the fabled land in the story of King Arthur, and he had a kind of fairy vision of the warmth and sunny delights which were to be found in his new land. But instead of being warm and sunny he found that Newfoundland was bleak and cold, so his fairy vision shriveled and died, and he came home and asked for a grant of land on the Potomac instead. King James gave Lord Baltimore what he asked, and called the land Maryland, in honour of his wife, Queen Henrietta Maria. But before the grant was sealed, with the King's broad seal, Lord Baltimore died. Not he, therefore, but his son, Cecilius, was the first Lord Proprietary of Maryland, and for his broad lands all he had to pay to King James was two Indian arrows, to be delivered at Windsor Castle every year on Tuesday in Easter week. He had also to pay one fifth part of all the gold and silver which might be found within his borders. But no gold or silver was found in the colony, so there was nothing to pay. Lord Baltimore did not himself go to America but sent his brother, Leonard Calvert, as governor. Maryland was not founded like the Puritan colonies for religious purposes, but like New Hampshire, merely for trade and profit. But in those days religion and religious strife entered into everything. So it did into the founding of Maryland. For Lord Baltimore was a Catholic, and in England Roman Catholics in their turn, as well as dissenters, were persecuted, and Lord Baltimore hoped to found a refuge for them in his new possessions in America. So although, in the charter given by a Protestant king, the Church of England was recognized as the state religion, in reality there was great religious freedom in Maryland, and for a time it was there only that Catholics found freedom in America. But in order to secure toleration for the Catholic religion Lord Baltimore found himself obliged to tolerate all others, so men of all creeds came to settle in Maryland and find freedom. The people of Virginia were very far from pleased when they heard of the new colony about to be planted so near them. For part of the land which had been given to Lord Baltimore they claimed as their own, and they looked upon the newcomers as intruders on their territory and resolved to maintain their rights. They did all they could to prevent the new settlers coming. Nevertheless, in spite of everything, Leonard Calvert set sail with his colonists, many of whom were well-to-do people, in two ships called the Ark and the Dove. They had a prosperous voyage and landed in Virginia full of doubt lest the inhabitants, who were very angry at their coming, should be plotting something against them. But the letters which they carried from the king seemed to appease the anger of the Virginians for a little, and the newcomers sailed on again to their own destination in Chesapeake Bay. So at length they reached the wished-for country, and Calvert landed with solemn state, to take possession of the land in the name of God and the King of England. As he stepped ashore a salute was fired from the boats. Then, reverently kneeling, the colonists listened while Mass was said for the first time in English America. Mass being over, they formed a procession at the head of which a rough wooden cross was carried. Then when they reached a spot chosen beforehand they planted the cross, and kneeling round it, chanted the litany of the sacred cross with great fervour. And thus a new colony was begun. With the Indians Calvert made friends, for he was both just and kind to them, paying them for their land in hose, hatchets, coloured cloths, and the beads and q-gauze they loved. So in those early days there were no Indian wars and massacres in Maryland. But although at peace with the Red Men, the Marylanders were not at peace with their fellow White Men, for the Virginians could not forget that Lord Baltimore had taken land which they had looked upon as their own. They had done their best to hinder him coming at all, and now that he had come they did their best to drive him away again. They tried to stir up mischief between the newcomers and the Indians by telling the Indians that these newcomers were Spaniards and enemies of the English nation. They complained to the people in power at home, and did everything they could to make Maryland an uncomfortable dwelling place, for those they looked upon as interlopers. The chief enemy of the Marylanders among the Virginians was a man named William Claiborne. Before the coming of these new colonists he had settled himself upon the Isle of Kent, which was within their bounds, and now he absolutely refused either to move or to recognize the authority of Calvert as governor, for he claimed the Isle of Kent as part of Virginia. Calvert on his side insisted on his rights, and as neither would give way it came at length to fighting. There was bloodshed on both sides, now one, now the other getting the upper hand. Each appealed in turn to King, Parliament, or Protector, and so for more than twenty years the quarrel went on. But when the great Cromwell came to power he took Lord Baltimore's part, Catholic though he was. And at length, in 1657, weary perhaps of the struggle, each side gave way a little, and there was peace between the two colonies. But in spite of the constant trouble with Claiborne the colony grew and prospered, for there was greater religious freedom to be found there than anywhere else, either in England or America. And in the seventeenth century religion bulked more largely in an Englishman's thoughts than almost anything else. Then in 1649 the governor issued an act, called the Toleration Act, which has made him famous. It gave freedom to everyone to follow his own religion, save Jews and Unitarians, and for those days it was a wonderfully liberal and broad-minded act. It threatened with a fine of ten shillings, anyone who should, in scorn or reproach, call any man such names as Popish Priest, Roundhead, Heretic. It declared that no person whatsoever within the province, professing to believe in Jesus Christ, should be in any way troubled or molested for his or her religion. This was the first law of its kind ever brought into force in America, and although suspended once or twice for short periods, it remained almost continuously in force for many years. Time went on, and the great estate of Maryland passed from one Lord Baltimore to another. Although founded as a refuge for Catholics, there were far more Protestants than Catholics within the colony. And when William III, the Protestant king, came to the throne, he deprived Baltimore of his rights, and made Maryland a royal province. The Church of England was then established, and Catholics forbidden to hold services. Thus Lord Baltimore's dream of providing a refuge for the oppressed was at an end. But in 1715 Benedict, the fourth Lord Baltimore, became a Protestant, and Maryland was given back to him. It remained in possession of his family until the Revolution. CHAPTER XXXVI how New Amsterdam became New York All the colonies which we have so far talked about were founded by Englishmen. Now we come to one which was founded by another people who, like the English, were great sea rovers and adventurers, the Dutch. Even before the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, the Dutch laid claim to the valleys of the Hudson and the Delaware. In those days people still knew very little about the continent of North America. They knew it was a continent, but they did not believe it to be very wide, as is proved by charters like that of Virginia, which made the colony extend from sea to sea. Nor did people know how long the continent was. They had no idea that the great double continent stretched from north to south all across the hemisphere, and they were continually seeking for that northwest passage, which would lead them to India by way of the west. Now in 1609 Henry Hudson, an English sailor in the pay of the Dutch, came seeking the northwest passage. He did not find it, but sailed into Delaware Bay and up the beautiful river, which is now known by his name, as far as where the town of Albany now stands. It was autumn when Hudson sailed up the river, the sky was gloriously blue, and the woods of flame with red and yellow, and he went home to tell the Dutch that he had found, as pleasant a land with grass and flowers and goodly trees, as ever he had seen, a very good land to fall with, and a pleasant land to sea. By right of Hudson's discoveries the Dutch claimed all the land between Cape Cod and Chesapeake Bay, and tempted by his glowing descriptions they very soon established trading ports upon the Hudson, which they called the North River, the Delaware they called the South River. The English too claimed the same land, and it was not until some years after the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers that the Dutch settled in the country. Then they formed a company, and bought the island of Manhattan where New York now stands, from the Indians, for about five pounds worth of glass beads and other trifles. Here they built a little fort, which they called New Amsterdam. The colony grew slowly, for the life was by no means an easy one, and the people of Holland lived in freedom and religious peace at home, so they had no need to cross the Atlantic to seek them. But the company wanted settlers. They therefore offered to give an estate, with eighteen miles bay or river frontage, to every man who would bring or send fifty colonists. Many people at once became eager to win such a prize, and very soon there were little settlements all along the shores of the Hudson. The men who received these huge estates were called patroons, which is the same word as our English patron, and they had power not unlike the feudal lords of old time. They were bound to supply each of their settlers with a farm, and also to provide a minister and a schoolmaster for every settlement. But on the other hand they had full power over the settlers. They were the rulers and judges, while the settlers were almost serfs, and were bound to stay for ten years with their patron to grind their corn at his mills and pay him tribute. Over the whole colony there was a governor who was, as a rule, autocratic, and sometimes dishonest, and there was a good deal of unrest in the colony. The patroons were soon at loggerheads with each other and with the governor. There were quarrels with the Swedes, who had settled on the Delaware, and there was terrible fighting with the Indians. At length the state of the colony became so bad that the settlers wrote home to Holland complaining of their governor and blaming him for all their troubles. The people in Holland listened to this complaint and a new governor was sent out. This was Peter Stuvessant, the last and most famous of the governors of New Amsterdam. He was a fiery old fellow, with a great love of pomp and a tremendous opinion of his own importance. He had lost a leg in the Spanish wars and now he stamped about with a wooden one. But as no plain wooden leg would please his taste for grandeur he had it bound with silver. The people were heartily tired of their old governor so they hailed the coming of Stuvessant with joy, but no sooner had their new governor arrived than they began to wonder if after all the change was a happy one. For Stuvessant seemed to look down upon them all. He landed with great state and pomp, and some of the chief inhabitants who had come to meet him were left standing bare-headed for several hours while he kept his hat on, as if he were Tsar of all the rushes. When he took over the direction of affairs from the late governor he did it with great ceremony in presence of all the colonists, and the late governor, thinking to make a good impression before he left, made a speech thanking the people for their faithfulness to him. But the stolid Dutchmen were not going to have any such farce, so they up and told him boldly that they would not thank him, for they had no reason to do so. Stuvessant, however, would not have any wrangling. He loudly and proudly declared that everyone should have justice done to him, and that he would be to them as a father to his children. But his bearing was so haughty that some of them went away shaking their heads, and fearing that he would be but a harsh father. And so it proved. If the settler's lot had been hard under the rule of other governors, it was still harder under that of Stuvessant. He was autocratic and hectoring. He stumped about with his wooden leg, and shouted everyone else down, and no one dared oppose him. Some indeed more brave than others declared that they would write home to Holland to complain of his tyranny. But when Stuvessant heard it he got so angry that he foamed at the mouth. If anyone appeals from my judgments, he shouted, I shall make him a foot shorter and send the pieces to Holland, let him appeal in that way. But Stuvessant, with all his faults, was a far better governor than those who had gone before him. And he had no easy post, for on every side he found himself surrounded by other states, the inhabitants of which were constantly encroaching on the borders of New Netherland. The English, both from Massachusetts and Connecticut, seemed to think that the Dutch had no rights at all. Where they found good land they settled, scoffing at the Dutch remonstrances. Stuvessant, too, was soon at loggerheads with the Swedes who had settled on the Delaware. The Dutch claimed both sides of the river and the Swedes laughed at their claims. They would sail up the river past the Dutch fort without stopping and displaying their colors, and when challenged and asked for their reason, replied boldly that they would certainly do it again. Then the Dutch began to build a new fort on land which the Swedes claimed, and the Swedes came and destroyed it. So things went from bad to worse, until at length Stuvessant decided to put an end to it. He gathered an army of six hundred men, the largest army that had ever been gathered in North America, and with seven ships entered the Delaware. Against a force like this the Swedes could not defend themselves, so they yielded on condition that they should march out of their forts with all the honors of war. This was granted to them, and with colors flying, drums beating, and trumpets playing, the Swedes marched out, and the Dutch marched in. Thus, without a blow, after seventeen years of occupation, New Sweden became part of New Netherland. Later on this land captured from the Swedes was to become the State of Delaware. From his triumph over the Swedes Stuvessant was recalled by the news that there was war with the Indians. He soon brought that to an end also, but he was not always to be victorious, and at length the time came when the power of the Dutch was to be swept away before a still greater power. Stuvessant had ruled New Netherland for seventeen years, the colony had prospered, and the number of new settlers had steadily increased. During these same years Great Britain had been passing through stormy times. King Charles had been beheaded, the kingdom had been declared a commonwealth with Cromwell at its head, but now he was dead, the stewards once more ruled, and King Charles II sat upon the throne. He cast a greedy eye upon New Netherland, for he wanted it for his brother, the Duke of York. There was peace between Holland and Britain, but Charles II cared little about that, so in 1664 he secretly granted all the land, lying between the Delaware and Connecticut rivers, to his brother, and sent a fleet of four ships, and about four hundred soldiers, under Colonel Richard Nichols, to take possession of the country. When Stuvessant heard of it he made ready to resist. He gathered in what powder and shot he could from the surrounding settlements. He mounted cannon. He ordered every able-bodied man to take his turn at strengthening the fortifications and keeping guard. And having done all he could he sent a messenger to Nichols, asking why he had come. Nichols' reply was a summons to surrender the town. At the same time he promised that anyone who would submit quietly should be protected by his majesty's laws and justice. Any people from the Netherlands may freely come and plant here, he wrote. Vessels of their own country may freely come hither, and any of them may as freely return home in vessels of their own country. But Peter Stuvessant was hot to fight, so lest the easy terms should make any of the settlers willing to give in he tried to keep them secret, but the council would not have it so. All that regards the public welfare must be made public, they said, and held to it. Then seeing he could not move them from their determination, in a fit of passion Stuvessant tore Nichols' letter in pieces, swearing that he would not be answerable for the consequences. The people were growing impatient, and, leaving their work upon the fortifications, they stormed into the council chamber. In vain Stuvessant tried to persuade them to return to their work. They would not listen to him. They replied to him only with curses and groans. Then from all sides came cries of, The letter, the letter, we will have the letter. So at last Stuvessant yielded. The torn fragments were gathered together, and a copy made, and when the people heard the terms they bade him yield. Still he would not, and he sent another message to Nichols. But Nichols would not listen. To-morrow he said, I will speak with you at Manhattan. Friends will be welcome, replied the messenger, if they come in friendly fashion. I shall come with my ships and my soldiers, answered Nichols, hoist the white flag of peace on the fort, and then something may be considered. When this answer was known terror seized the town. Women and children came to implore the governor with tears to submit. He would not listen to them. Like the fierce old lion he was he knit his brow and stamped with his wooden leg. I would rather be carried a corpse to my grave than give in, he cried. But he alone had any desire to fight. For in the whole fort there was not enough powder to last one day. From the river-front there was absolutely no protection, and on the north there was only a rickety fence three or four feet high. There was little food within the fort, and not a single well. So all the chief inhabitants wrote a letter to the governor begging him to give in. You know, in your own conscience, they said, that your fortress is incapable of making head three days against so powerful an enemy, and, God help us, whether we turn us for assistance to the north or to the south, to the east or to the west, tis all in vain. On all sides are we encompassed and hemmed in by our enemies. Therefore we humbly, and in bitterness of heart, implore your honour not to reject the conditions of so generous a foe. This letter was signed by all the most important people of the town, even by Stuvescent's own son. With everyone against him he could hold out no longer, so he yielded, and at eight o'clock on Monday morning the eighth of September 1664 he marched out of Fort Amsterdam at the head of his soldiers. With colours flying and drums beating they marched down to the riverside where a ship awaited them, and getting on board they set sail for Holland. Then the Dutch flag was hauled down, the British flag was hoisted in its place, and New Amsterdam became New York, a name given it in honour of the king's brother, the Duke of York. A few weeks later every other Dutch settlement had yielded to the British. Fort Orange became Fort Albany, so named for the Duke of York's second title, and Dutch dominion in North America was at an end. As to Stuvescent he sailed home and was severely scolded by the West India Company for his scandalous surrender. He was, however, able to defend himself and prove to the directors that he had done his best. Then he returned to America and spent the rest of his life quietly on his farm, or Bowery, as it was called in Dutch. Those of you who are familiar with New York know that there is still a part of it called the Bowery, and it may interest you to learn that it is so-called in memory of the farm where this arrogant old lion of a Dutchman spent his last days. He spent them peacefully and happily. Now that he was no longer a ruler he lost much of his overbearing pride, and all that was kindly in his nature showed itself. Many who had feared and hated him came to love and admire him. Among others he made friends with the Englishmen who had ousted him, and many a jolly evening he and Nichols spent together, cracking jokes, and listening to each other's stories of the brave days gone by. Peter Stuvescent died at the age of eighty, and was buried in what is now Saint Mark's Church, where a tablet on the wall marks the spot where he lies. New York was now a proprietary colony like Maryland, its overlord being the Duke of York, and when in 1685 he became King of England, New York became a crown colony. The Dutch rule had been autocratic, the people having little say in the government. They had chafed against it, and had hoped that the change of ruler would bring a change of government, and that they would be allowed freedom like the New England colonies. But James was not the sort of man to allow freedom to people when he could prevent it, so the government of New York continued as autocratic as before. Meanwhile New York once more changed hands. In a time of peace the British had calmly and without a shadow of right taken the colony from the Dutch. Nine years later when the two countries were at war the Dutch took it back again. It was just the same nine-year-old story over again, only this time it was the Dutch who marched in and hoisted the Dutch flag over the fort. Once more the names were changed. New York became New Orange, and the province was once more New Amsterdam. But this was only for a month or two. The following year Holland and Britain made peace, and by the Treaty of Westminster all Dutch possessions in North America were given back to Britain, and Dutch rule in North America was at an end for ever. End of Chapter 36 Read by Kara Schallenberg, November 2009, in San Diego, California. Chapter 37 of This Country of Hours This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall. Chapter 37 How a German Ruled New York When Sir Edmund Andros came to America he had been made governor of New York as well as of all New England. And while Massachusetts was having its revolution upon the accession of William and Mary there were exciting times in New York also. When the news of the imprisonment of Andros reached New York there was great agitation. Almost at the same time came the news that the French had declared war on England, which added to the people's excitement. For they suspected Nicholson, whom Andros had left in charge as Lieutenant Governor, of being a Catholic, and a quite groundless idea got about that he meant to betray the colony into the hands of the French, or burn it to the ground. There were very few Catholics in New York, and the Protestants had little need to fear them, but many of the Protestants were filled with a burning zeal for their faith, and of these Jakob Leisler, an honest, ignorant German, now became the leader. He refused to pay a tax because the tax collector was a papist, and therefore no fit person to receive the money. Other people followed his example, and day by day excitement grew. At length Leisler was at the head of a great following. He got command of the fort, and drew up a declaration, which he forced the captain of the militia and others to sign. In this he declared that the city was in danger, and that he would take possession of it until King William should appoint a governor. Nicholson had no grit. He could not stand against a bold blusterer like Leisler, so he ran away. He went home to render an account of the present deplorable state of affairs to King William. But in order that Nicholson should not have it all his own way at home, Leisler on his side sent an innkeeper, Jost Stoll, as his ambassador to King William, to explain matters from his point of view. Leisler now became very autocratic. He called himself Lieutenant Governor. He disarmed and arrested all the papists, and every one was a papist who did not yield readily to him. He had enormous power in his hands for good or evil, but he was far too ignorant and vain to use it well. Indeed he used it so badly that even some of the men who had hailed him with delight turned against him. Leisler, by many signs, knew his popularity was failing. Then his friend, the innkeeper, returned from England with the doleful news that King William had taken not the slightest notice of him. The King indeed would not deign to recognize the existence of the upstart German governor, and had appointed a new governor who would shortly arrive in New York. This was bad news for Leisler, and it seemed to drive him crazy. He grew more and more tyrannical. At length his tyranny became so bad that many of the chief people of New York wrote a letter to the King and Queen complaining of it. In this letter they told the King and Queen that they were sore oppressed by ill men who ruled in New York by the sword at the sole will of an insolent alien assisted by some few whom we can give no better name than a rabble. From other parts of the colony, too, letters were written calling Leisler a bold usurper and begging the King to do something to break this heavy yoke of worse than Egyptian bondage. Nor did the people confine themselves to writing letters. Leisler found himself insulted at every turn. He was mobbed and stoned and called dog-driver, general hog, and other ugly names. Meanwhile on the stormy seas the ships bringing out the new governor and lieutenant governor were being tossed hither and thither. The waves dashed high, the wind drove the ships helplessly before it, and the archangel, which bore the governor, was separated from the others, and driven far out of its course. Thus it happened that Ingoldsby, the lieutenant governor, arrived in New York without the governor. However he sent to Leisler asking him to allow the soldiers he had brought to enter the fort. This request made Leisler very angry. He refused to allow the soldiers to enter the fort unless Ingoldsby showed him orders in writing, either from the King or governor. This Ingoldsby could not do, for all the orders were in the governor's ship, and where that was he could not tell, and finding that Leisler would yield to no reasoning. After four days he landed his men with as much care as if he had been making a descent into an enemy's country, and lodged them in the town hall. So six weeks passed. Ingoldsby was determined to stay, Leisler just as determined that he should go. At length Leisler sent Ingoldsby a notice to disband his force in two hours, or take the consequences. Ingoldsby refused to disband his force. So from the fort Leisler fired upon the soldiers in the town hall, and several were killed. More trouble seemed likely to follow, but some of Leisler's soldiers had already had enough, so they laid down their arms and went home. Next day Governor Slaughter arrived. Hearing of all the commotion he landed hastily, and going to the town hall ordered the bell to be rung, and his commission to be read to the people. Then he sent Ingoldsby to demand the surrender of the fort. But Leisler was by this time crazy with the idea of his own importance. He refused to give up the fort until he received orders from the king direct, addressed to his very own self. This was absurd, for the king was hardly conscious of Leisler's existence. The governor therefore paid no attention to these proud demands, and sent Ingoldsby again to demand possession of the fort. Again Leisler refused. It could not be done so easily as all that, he said. Still a third time the governor demanded the fort, and again with scorn Leisler refused. It was now nearly midnight, and the governor decided to do nothing more till morning. With morning reason seemed to return to Leisler. He wrote a letter to the governor begging him to take the fort. But the governor took no notice of the letter. He simply sent Ingoldsby to command the garrison to give up their arms and march out, promising at the same time free pardon to everyone except Leisler and his council. The men obeyed at once. They marched out, and Leisler found himself a prisoner. For two years he had lorded it in New York. Now his day was done. After a short trial he and his friend and son-in-law Milbourne were condemned to death and hanged as traitors. At the time many applauded this severity, but afterwards most people were sorry. For after all Leisler had meant well, and in spite of his arrogance he had still many friends left. He was now looked upon as a martyr, and for many a long day New York was torn asunder with bitter strife over his tragic ending. End of Chapter 37 Read by Kara Schellenberg in November 2009 in San Diego, California. Chapter 38 Pirates Colonel Slaughter, whose rule began in such stormy times, proved no good governor. Indeed he was a bad man, as well as a bad ruler. Others followed who were not a bit better, one at least being accused of being in league with the pirates, who were now the terror of the seas. The seventeenth century has been called the Golden Age of Piracy. Never before or since have pirates had such a splendid time. After the discovery of America the number of ships sailing the seas increased rapidly until all the chief countries of Europe had far more ships afloat than they could possibly protect with their navies, so they readily became a prey to pirates. Then as they could not protect their merchant men with their warships, most countries allowed private people in time of war to fit out ships armed with guns to capture the merchant shipping of the enemy. These ships were simply private men of war, and were called privateers. They always carried letters of mark and reprisal, which gave them the legal right to commit against enemy ships acts which, without those letters of mark, would have been considered acts of piracy. In the long run these privateers often became little better than pirates, and it has been said privateers in time of war were a nursery for pirates against a peace. The pirate's life was one of reckless daring. They were idle, swaggering, brutal. All the summer they sailed the seas, a terror to peaceful merchant men, and when winter came, or when they were tired of plundering, they would retire to the West India Islands or Madagascar. Here, hidden in the depths of forests, they built for themselves strong castles surrounded by moats and walls. The paths leading to these castles were made with the greatest cunning. They were so narrow that people could only go in single file. They crossed and recrossed in every direction, so that the castle was surrounded by a maze, and anyone not knowing the secret might wander for hours without being able to find the dwelling which could not be seen until one was close upon it. In these savage fastnesses the pirates lived in squalid splendor. They had numbers of slaves to wait upon them, the finest wines and foods, their richest dress and jewels, spoils of their travels. And when they had drunk and rioted in idleness to their heart's content, they would once more set sail and roam the seas in search of fresh adventure. All sorts of people took to piracy, and scampish sons of noble houses might be found side by side with the lowest of scoundrels and vagabonds. In fact, in those days any man who had a grudge against the world might turn pirate. Even women were found among them. A jovial, brutal crew they swaggered and swore their way through life, and if the gallows at the end always loomed over them, what then? There was always plenty of rum in which to drown the thought. Some of the pirates became very famous. The very sight of the Jolly Roger, as the pirate's black flag was called, struck terror to the hearts of merchantmen, and it is said that one pirate captured and sunk as many as four hundred ships before he was caught. Yet these ruffians often had dealings with seemingly respectable tradesmen. Having captured a few ships, and taken all the booty on board his own, the pirate would sail for some port. There he would show some old letters of mark, swear that he was a privateer and had captured the goods lawfully from the enemy, for the world was always at war in those days. And as the goods were going cheap, too many questions would not be asked. Thus a profitable trade was done. The navigation laws, too, helped pirates to thrive on the coasts of America, for they seemed so unjust and burdensome that people thought it no wrong to evade them. So often piracy and smuggling went hand in hand. At length piracy grew so bad that people felt that something must be done to stop it. And when an Irishman named Lord Bellamont came out as governor, he said about doing it. It was decided that the best way to do it was to send a swift and well-armed frigate under a captain who knew their haunts and ways to catch these sea robbers. For this Captain Kidd, a tried sailor was chosen, and he set sail with a somewhat ruffianly crew in the ship Adventure. But Captain Kidd was unlucky, though he roamed the seas and sought the pirates in the haunts he knew so well, he never found a one. Nor could he find even enemy ships which, as a privateer, he might have attacked. Dutch ships, ships of the great mogul he met, but Britain was at peace with Holland, and on most friendly terms with the heathen potentate. Pirates and ships of France he could not find. Food and money were nearly gone. The crew grew mutinous. They had come forth for adventure, and not to sail the seas thus tamely and on short rations to boot. So there was angry talk between the crew and Captain. Plainly they told him that the next ship which came in sight, be it friend or foe, should be their prey. Kid grew furious and, seizing a hatchet, he hit one of the men on the head, so that he fell senseless on the deck and died. Alone he stood against his mutinous crew, but in the end he gave way to them. He turned pirate, and any ship which came his way was treated as a lawful prize. For two years after Captain Kidd left New York nothing was heard of him. Then strange and disquieting rumours came home. It was said that he who had been sent to hunt pirates had turned pirate himself, that he who had been sent as a protection had become a terror to honest traders. So orders were accordingly sent to Lord Bellamont to arrest Captain Kidd. A royal proclamation was also issued offering free pardon to all pirates saved too, one of whom was William Kidd. This was the news which greeted the new-made pirate when he arrived one day at a port in the West Indies, but those were lawless days. Captain Kidd's ship was laden with great treasure, treasure enough he thought to win forgiveness. At least he decided to brazen it out, and he set sail for New York. His ship was no longer the adventure, but the Queda merchant, for the adventure being much battered after two years seafaring, he had sunk her and taken one of his many prizes instead. But on the way home he left the Queda merchant at San Domingo with all her rich cargo, and, taking only the gold and jewels, he set sail again in a small sloop. As he neared New York his heart failed him, and he began to think that after all forgiveness might not be won so easily. Cautiously he crept up to New York, only to learn that the Governor was at Boston. So he sent a messenger to the Governor confessing that acts of piracy had been committed, but without his authority. They were done, he said, when the men were in a state of mutiny, and had locked him up in his cabin. Lord Bellamont was broad-minded and just, and had no desire to condemn a man unheard, so he sent back a message to Captain Kidd, saying, If you can prove your story true, you can rely on me to protect you. But Captain Kidd's story did not satisfy Lord Bellamont, so he was put into prison and later sent home to England to be tried. There he was condemned to death and hanged as a pirate. Some people, however, never believed in his guilt. Whether he was guilty or not, there is little doubt that he did not have a fair trial, and that he was, by no means, the shameless Ruffian he was made out to be. What became of the Queda merchant and all her rich cargo was never known. Indeed, the most of Kidd's ill-gotten gains entirely disappeared, for when his sloop was searched very little treasure was found. So then it was said that Captain Kidd must have buried his treasure somewhere before he reached Boston. And for a hundred years and more afterwards, all along the shore of Long Island Sound, people now and again would start a search of buried treasure, but none was ever found. Before his pirate friend met his end, Lord Bellamont died. He was one of the few governors the people had loved, and they sorrowed truly at his death. He was followed by Lord Cornby, a very bad man. Nevertheless, in spite of Governor's good and bad, New York prospered. Every fresh tyranny in Europe which sent freedom-seekers to America added to the population. And as the first settlers were Dutch, New York had a more un-English population than almost any other of the colonies. Chapter 39 of This Country of Hours. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall Chapter 39 The Founding of New Jersey Out of New York another state had been carved. For before New York had been taken from the Dutch, before Nichols had so much as reached the shores of America, James, Duke of York, had already given part of the land which he did not yet possess, to two of his friends, Lord Berkeley, and Sir George Carteret. Sir George had been Governor of the Island of Jersey in the English Channel. When the Revolution broke out in England he had defended the island stoutly against the soldiers of the Parliament, and had kept the King's flag flying on British soil longer than any other man. So now that the stewards were restored King Charles remembered Carteret's loyalty, and he called this tract of land New Jersey in his honour. For this great estate Sir George and Lord Berkeley had to pay only ten shillings a year, and a peppercorn. Nichols, of course, knew nothing about these grants, and when he heard of them he was grieved that the Duke should have given away so much valuable land. He had besides allowed some Puritans from New England and others to settle on the land after making agreements with the natives, and this led to trouble later on. Meanwhile Sir George lost no time in settling his land in his own way. He at once sent out some colonists and Philip Carteret, a cousin of his own, as Governor. On a summer day in 1665 Philip Carteret landed. He set up no crosses and made no prayers, but with a hoe over his shoulder he marched at the head of his men as a sign that he meant to live and work among them. A little way inland he chose a spot on which to build his town, and called it Elizabeth, in honour of Sir George Carteret's wife. Things went well enough until the time came for rents to be paid. Then many of the settlers who had been there before Carteret came refused to pay, for they said they had bought their land from the Indians and owed nothing to Sir George. But as the Governor insisted on his right they rose in rebellion. They held a meeting at Elizabeth Towne, deposed Philip Carteret, and chose James Carteret, a weak and bad son of Sir George, as their Governor. Seeing nothing else for it Philip went home and laid his case before Sir George and the Duke. They both supported him, so the rebels submitted. James Carteret went off to New York, and Philip again became Governor of New Jersey. Meanwhile Lord Berkeley had grown tired of all the trouble, and he sold his part of New Jersey to some Quakers. So henceforth New Jersey was divided into two, East Jersey and West Jersey, East Jersey belonging to Carteret, West Jersey to the Quakers. In 1680 Sir George Carteret died, and his part of New Jersey was also sold to Quakers, one of whom was William Penn, afterwards to become famous in American history. Soon after this New Jersey fell on very troubleous times, of which it would take too long to tell. But at length the two jerseys were again made into one, and in the time of Ann the colony became a royal province. Then for thirty-six years it was united to New York, but in 1738 was again divided, and has remained a separate state ever since. The founding of Pennsylvania. Like other persecuted people the Quakers sought a refuge in America, but even there they were not welcomed. The Puritans of Massachusetts who had fled from persecution themselves turned persecutors, as we have seen. The Quakers discovered that for them there was no paradise of peace in the lands beyond the sea. But when George Carteret sold his part of New Jersey, Quakers bought it, a young man named William Penn being one of these Quakers. This William Penn was the son of Sir William Penn, an admiral in the British Navy, and a friend of King Charles I. He was a royalist, and a churchman, and when his handsome young son turned Quaker he was greatly grieved. At first indeed he was so angry that he turned young William out of the house. Later, however, seeing that his son was quite determined to be a Quaker, the admiral forgave him, and before he died he asked the Duke of York to be kind to him. The Duke of York promised he would, and then there began a strange friendship between the Catholic Prince and the Quaker. After the Quakers bought New Jersey a great many went there. They found not only a large amount of freedom, but a kindly government, for William Penn framed the laws. The Quaker colony of New Jersey was to a certain extent a success, but there were troubles with neighboring states, and troubles with other claimants of the land. So, at length, exactly when we do not know, the idea of founding a real Quaker colony came into Penn's mind. When admiral Penn died the King owed him sixteen thousand pounds, and William Penn inherited that claim, so he asked the King to pay the debt not in money, but in land in America. The extent of the land asked for was exceedingly vague, but it was at least as big as the whole of England. Charles, however, was always in want of money, so he was pleased enough to give away this great tract of land, which after all was his more by imagination than anything else, and get rid of his debt, and acquire also the possibility of getting some gold as well. For in return for his land Penn agreed to pay two beaverskins a year, and a fifth of all the gold and silver which might be mined within his territory. Charles not only gave Penn the land, but named it too. Penn meant to call his new country New Wales, but a Welshman who hated the Quakers objected to the name of his land being given to a Quaker colony, so Penn changed it to Sylvania, meaning Woodland, because of the magnificent forests which were there. But the King added Penn to Sylvania, thus calling it Penn's Woodlands. William Penn, however, was afraid that people would think that this was vanity on his part, and that he had called his province after himself, so he tried to have the name changed. He even bribed the King's secretary to do it, but in vain. As someone has said, if he had bribed the King himself he might have succeeded better. As it was he did not succeed, for King Charles was very pleased with the name. No, laughed the merry monarch, when Penn asked him to change it. We will keep the name, but you need not flatter yourself, that it is called after you. It is so called after your gallant father. So as the King insisted Penn had to submit, and he consoled himself by thinking that, as Penn means hill, the name might be taken to mean wooded hills. The tract of land of which Penn now became possessed was smiling and fertile and altogether desirable. It had only one fault, and that was that it had no sea coast. In a new country where there were no roads, and where communication inland was difficult, that was a great drawback. So Penn persuaded the Duke of York to give him that part of his province on which the Swedes had settled, and which the Dutch had taken from the Swedes, on the west shores of Delaware Bay. Later this formed the State of Delaware, but in the meantime it was governed as a part of Pennsylvania. Everything thus being settled, and the charter being granted, Penn drew up a form of government for his colony, chose his cousin William Markham as governor, and sent him off in the autumn of 1681 with three shiploads of settlers. With Markham Penn sent a kindly letter to the Swedes of Delaware, telling him that he was now their governor. I hope you will not be troubled at the change, he said, for you are now fixed at the mercy of no governor who comes to make his fortune. You shall be governed by laws of your own making, and live a free and, if you will, a sober and industrious people. I shall not usurp the right of any, or oppress his person. Penn also sent a letter to the Indians. There is a great God, he said, that hath made the world and all things therein, to whom you and I and all people owe their being. This great God hath written his law in our hearts, by which we are taught and commanded to love and help, and do good to one another. Now this great God hath been pleased, to make me concerned in your part of the world, and the king of the country where I live hath given me a great province therein. But I desire to enjoy it with your love and consent, that we may always live together as neighbors and friends, else what would the great God do to us? With this letter Penn sent presents to the Indian chiefs, and told them that he would soon come to see them himself and make arrangements about the land. But it was not till the following year that Penn set out for his colony. When he landed, the Dutch and Swedes greeted him with joy. And to show that they acknowledged him as their governor, they presented him, as in old feudal times, with a sod of earth, a bowl of water, and a branch of a tree. Penn then passed on to the spot which he had chosen for his capital, and as showing forth the spirit in which his colony was founded, he called his city Philadelphia, or the city of brotherly love. It was near this town that Penn met the Indian chiefs and made a treaty with them, as he had promised to do. In the Indian language the spot was called the Place of Kings, and had been used as a meeting place by the surrounding tribes for long ages. Here there grew a splendid elm, a hoary giant of the forest which, for a hundred years and more, had withstood the tempests. Beneath the spreading branches of this tree Penn took his stand. He was young and handsome, and although he wore the simple garb of the Quakers, he had not yet perhaps quite forgotten the modish ways of his younger days, for about his waist he had not had a pale blue scarf. Beside him stood his cousin, the deputy governor, and a few more soberly clad Quakers. In front of them, in a great half-circle, were ranged the Indians, the old men in front, the middle-aged behind, and last of all the young men. They were gorgeous in paint and feathers, and armed with hatchets, bows, and arrows, but the Quakers carried no weapons of any kind. Greetings being over, an ancient warrior advanced, and, amid deep silence, tied a horn upon his forehead. This was the sign of his greatness, and also a sign that the spot was sacred. Immediately all the braves threw down their weapons, and seated themselves upon the grass. Then the old warrior announced that they were ready to hear the words of the White Chief. Then Penn spoke to the gathered Indians, reminding them that the Great Spirit wished all men to live in love and brotherhood, and as the Red Man listened, his heart went out in love to this White Chief, who had friendship in his eyes, and kindliness in his voice. And there under the spreading branches of the Great Elm Tree they swore to live in peace and brotherly love, as long as the rivers shall run, and while the sun, moon, and stars endure. These Indians never broke their word, and for the next seventy years there was peace in Pennsylvania between the Red Man and the White. The Indians gave Penn the name of Onus, which is the Algonquin word for feather. Ever afterwards too they called the Governor of Pennsylvania Onus, and whoever and whatever he was, for them he was great and good. But Penn was not only the Great Chief Onus, he was also Father Penn, for he roamed the woods with the Indians, talking with them, and sharing their simple food like one of themselves. This greatly delighted the Indians, and to show their pleasure they would perform some of their wild dances. Then up Penn would spring, and dance with the best of them, so he won their hearts. They loved him so much that the highest praise they could give any man was to say, he is like the Great Onus, and it was said that anyone dressed like a Quaker was far safer among the Indians than one who carried a gun. Life seemed so easy in Pennsylvania that in the first years thousands of colonists came flocking to the new colony. It grew faster than any other colony, so fast indeed, that houses could not be built quickly enough. So for a time many of the new settlers had to live in caves dug out of the banks of the Delaware River. It was in one of these caves that the first baby citizen of the city of brotherly love was born. Pennsylvania prospered and grew fast, but there were constant troubles with Lord Baltimore about the borderline between his province and Penn's. The British kings in those days gave land charters in the most reckless fashion, and over and over again the boundaries of one province overlapped those of the others. Then, of course, there was trouble. This had happened with Virginia and Maryland. Now it happened with Maryland and Pennsylvania. The quarrel at length became so bad that Penn went home to England to have the matter settled. After that, for a time things were better, but the quarrel was not really settled. It was not settled until many years after both Penn and Lord Baltimore were dead. Then, two English astronomers, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, surveyed and fixed the boundary which ever since has been known as the Mason and Dixon line. Every mile a small stone was placed with B on one side and P on the other. Along the eastern part, too, every five miles a larger stone was placed, with the arms of Penn on one side and those of Baltimore on the other. But further west these were discontinued, for in those days, when there were a few roads, it was difficult to get those heavy stones carried to the proper places. When Penn went back to England he had meant to return to his colony very soon, but fifteen years passed before he was able to do so. During this time King Charles II, who had given him the charter for his great possessions, died and his brother James, who as Duke of York had been Penn's friend, was driven from the throne. Then for a time Penn's great province was taken from him because he was suspected of helping his old friend, the dethroned king. The colony was then placed under the control of the governor of New York. Two years later, however, Penn was cleared from the charge of treason and his right to Pennsylvania was again recognized. Then once more he crossed the seas to visit his possessions in the New World. He found that in fifteen years great changes had been wrought. The two or three thousand inhabitants had now increased to twenty thousand. Many of the new settlers were not Quakers, but Protestants from Germany, Holland and Sweden, and Presbyterians from Scotland and Ireland. Penn welcomed them all, but they on their side had grown apart from him. They were no longer his children. He was no longer father Penn, but the governor and proprietor. From this governor the settlers demanded greater liberties than they had. Penn was grieved, but he met the clamor in the most generous spirit. Friends, he said, if in the Constitution there be anything that jars, alter it. So it was altered until practically the colonists became a self-governing people. Now for a second time Penn felt himself obliged to return to England. He did not want to go, but longed to live out the rest of his life in his colony, which, in spite of all troubles and difficulties, he loved dearly. I cannot think of such a voyage without great reluctance, he said, for I promised myself that I might stay so long, at least with you, as to render everybody entirely easy and safe. For my heart is among you as well as my body, whatever some people may please to think. And no unkindness or disappointment shall ever be able to alter my love to the country. So with just a little soreness in his heart Penn sailed away, never to return. At home trouble and misfortune awaited him, and in the midst of his troubles sickness fell upon him. For six years a helpless invalid with failing mind he lingered on. Then in 1718 he died, he was seventy-four. Only four years of his long life had been spent in America, yet he left his stamp upon the continent far more than any other man of his time. He was the greatest, most broad-minded of all the colony builders. As he said himself he had sailed against wind and tide all his life, but the buffettings of fortune left him sweet and true to the end. After Penn left his colony there was frequent trouble between the governors and the people. Some of the governors were untrustworthy, some were weak, none was truly great. But about ten years after Penn's death a truly great man came to Philadelphia. This was Benjamin Franklin, of all the men of colonial times, Franklin was the greatest. Benjamin was the fifteenth child of his father, a sturdy English non-conformist who some years before had emigrated from Banbury in England to Boston in America. As the family was so large the children had to begin early to earn their own living. So at the age of ten Benjamin was apprenticed to his own father, who was a tallow chandler, and the little chap spent his days helping to make soap and dips and generally making himself useful. But he did not like it at all, so after a time he was apprenticed to his elder brother James, who had a printing press and published a little newspaper called The Courant. Benjamin liked that much better. He soon became a good printer, he was able to get hold of books easily, and he spent his spare time reading such books as The Pilgrim's Progress and The Spectator. Very soon too he took to writing and became anxious to have an article printed in his brother's paper. But as he was only a boy he was afraid that if his brother knew he had written the article he would never print it, so he disguised his handwriting and slipped his paper under the door of the printing-house at night. It was found next morning, and to Benjamin's delight, was thought good enough to be printed in the paper. After that Benjamin wrote often for the little paper. In time, however, he and his brother began to quarrel, and when he was seventeen Benjamin decided to go to New York to seek his fortune there. He took ship to New York and arrived there one October day with very little money in his pocket, and not a friend in the town. He did not find work in New York, but an old printer advised him to go to Philadelphia, where he knew his son was in need of a printer. Benjamin was already three hundred miles from home, and Philadelphia was another hundred miles farther, but he resolved to go. Fifty miles of the way he trudged on foot, the rest he went by boat, and after nearly a week of most uncomfortable traveling he arrived one Sunday morning at Philadelphia. He was soaked to the skin, dirty and untidy, hungry and tired. His pockets bulged out with shirts and stockings, but save for one Dutch dollar they were empty of money. Benjamin was tired and dirty, but before everything he was hungry, so he went to a baker's shop and bought three big rolls. As his pockets were full, he tucked two of the rolls under his arm and strolled down the street, devouring the third, while the clean, tidy folk all ready to go to meeting stared at him in wonder. Such was the first entry of one of America's greatest statesmen into the town which was henceforth to be his home, and where he was to become famous, and as a clever Frenchman said, invent the Republic. In Philadelphia Benjamin found work, and although after a year he left his new home and sailed for England he soon returned. In ten years time he was one of the foremost men of Philadelphia and took an interest in everything which concerned the life of the people. He established a circulating library. He was chosen clerk of the General Assembly. He was appointed postmaster. He established a police force and fire brigade, and helped to found the University of Pennsylvania and the Philadelphia Hospital. In fact, he took an interest in everything connected with the welfare of his adopted city and of Pennsylvania. And when troubles arose with the British government, Franklin was chosen to go to England to try to put matters right. Later on other colonies too asked for his help, and he went to England as the agent, not only of Pennsylvania but of Massachusetts, New Jersey, and Georgia. He was a philosopher and scientist as well as a diplomatist, and he was the first American whose fame spread all over the world. And of Chapter 41, read by Kara Schellenberg, November 2009, in San Diego, California. Chapter 42 of This Country of Hours. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall. Chapter 42. The Founding of North and South Carolina. It was in the part of the United States which we now call North Carolina, you remember, that Sir Walter Raleigh tried to found a colony. That colony came to nothing, and the land which the white men had reclaimed from the wilderness, returned once more to the wilderness. Nearly a hundred years went past before white men again appeared in that part of the country. In 1629 King Charles I granted all this region to Sir Robert Heath, but he made no attempt to colonize it. Then a few settlers from Virginia and New England and the Barbados, finding the land vacant and neglected, settled there. Meanwhile Charles II had come to the throne, and, wanting to reward eight of his friends who had been staunch to him during the Commonwealth, he gave them all the land between latitude 30 and 36, and from sea to sea. If you look on the map you will see that this takes in nearly the whole of the southern states. Sir Robert Heath was by this time dead, and his heirs had done nothing with his great territory in America, but as soon as it was given to others they began to make a fuss. Charles II, however, said as Sir Robert had failed to plant a colony, his claim no longer held good. So the eight new proprietors took possession of it. This tract of land had already been named Carolina by the Frenchman Rebault in honor of Charles IX of France, and now the Englishman who took possession of it kept the old name in honor of Charles II. The Lord's proprietary then said about drawing up laws for their new country. After an old English title they called the oldest among them the Palatine. Palatine originally meant a person who held some office about a king's palace. It has come to mean one who has royal privileges, so a prince Palatine is really a little king. When the Palatine died it was arranged that the next in age should take his place. As to the other seven proprietors they all had grand sounding titles, such as Chamberlain, Chancellor, Constable, High Steward, and so on. Having settled all these grand sounding titles the proprietors went on to frame a system of laws. They called it the grand model, or fundamental constitutions, but it was more like some old English feudal system than anything else. It might have done for the ancient Saxons of the ninth century. It was quite unsuitable for rough colonists in a new and almost uninhabited country. It was quite unsuited for men who had left Europe because they wanted to get away from old conventions and be more free. Yet the Lord's proprietors said that the grand model was to be the law of Carolina for ever and ever. The settlers, however, would have nothing to do with the grand model, for it was altogether too fanciful for them. The proprietors on their side persisted, but when they found it impossible to force the settlers to obey their laws they changed their grand model and tried again. Still it was of no use. The colonists would not have it. So at length, having altered their unalterable rules five times, they gave them up altogether and took to something more simple. But among much that was foolish and unsuitable in the grand model there was one good thing. That was that everyone was free to worship God in the way he thought right. If only seven men agreed together, said the grand model, they were enough to form a church. All it insisted upon was that people must acknowledge a God and that they must worship him openly. Nevertheless, in spite of this they made no provision for worship. No clergyman went with the settlers, and indeed for many years no clergyman settled among them. But because there was religious freedom, people of all religions came to Carolina. Quakers and dissenters of every description sought a refuge there. They came not only from England, but from other colonies and from foreign countries. You remember that the Protestants of France were called Huguenots, and that they had had to suffer many things at the hands of Catholic rulers, until the good King Henry of Navarre protected them by the Edict of Nantes. Now Louis XIV, who was at this time on the throne of France, revoked that Edict. He forbade the Huguenots to worship God in their own way, and he also forbade them to leave the country on pain of death. But thousands braved death rather than remain and be false to their religion. Some were caught and cruelly punished, but many succeeded in escaping to Holland, England, and even to America. So many Huguenots now settled in Carolina. They were hardworking, high-minded people, and they brought a sturdiness and grit to the colony, which it might otherwise have lacked. Germans, too, came from the Palatinate, driven thence also by religious persecutions. Irish Presbyterians came fleeing from persecution in Ulster. Jacobites, who, having fought for the stewards, found Scotland no longer a safe dwelling place, came seeking a new home. These were all hardy, industrious people, but besides these there came many worthless idlers, who came to be known as poor whites. These came because in the early days when the colony was but sparsely peopled, and more settlers were wanted, a law was passed that a new settler need not pay any debts he had made before he came to the colony, and for a year after he came he need pay no taxes. These laws, of course, brought many shiftless folk who, having got hopelessly into debt somewhere else, ran away to Carolina to get free of it. Indeed, so many of these undesirables came, that the Virginians called Carolina the Rogues Harbor. Besides all these white people there were a great many Negroes, especially in South Carolina. This came about naturally. The climate of Carolina is hot. There is also a lot of marshy ground, good for growing rice. But the work in these rice fields was very unhealthy, and white men could not stand it for long. So a trade in slaves sprang up. Already men had begun to kidnap Negroes from the west coast of Africa, and sell them to the tobacco planters of Virginia. In those days no one saw anything wrong in it, and now that the rice fields of South Carolina constantly required more workers the trade in slaves increased. Whole shiploads were brought at a time. They were bought and sold like cattle, and if they died at their unhealthy work it mattered little, for they were cheap, and there were plenty more where they came from. War with the Indians in North and South Carolina At first there had been no intention of making two provinces of Carolina, but the country was so large, and the settlements made so far apart, that very soon it became divided into North and South Carolina. The first settlements made in North Carolina were made round abramaral sound, and those of South Carolina at Charleston. One governor was supposed to rule both states, but sometimes each had a governor. And in all the early years there was trouble between the governors and the people. Sometimes the governors were good men, but more often they were rascals, who cared for nothing but their own pockets. So we hear of revolutions, of governors being deposed and imprisoned, of colonists going to England to complain of their governors, of governors going to complain of the colonists. But far worse than the quarrel between people and governor were the troubles with the Indians. Many thousands of white people had by this time settled in the Carolinas, and the red man saw himself year by year being driven further and further from his old hunting grounds, so year by year his anger grew. At first he had been friendly to the white man because he brought with him beads, and copper ornaments, and fire-water. But now he began to hate him. At length the Indians in North Carolina plotted to kill all the white people. Many tribes of Indians dwelt round the settlements, but the chief among them were the Tuscaroras. These Tuscaroras now arranged with all the other tribes, that early on the morning before the new moon they should all, with one accord, tomahawk and fire-brand in hand, fall upon the pale faces, and wipe them utterly from the face of the earth. From tribe to tribe the word was passed, till hundreds knew the secret, but the red man is silent and crafty, and neither by sign nor word did he betray it to the pale faces. Suspecting nothing, with perfect faith in their friendship, the white people allowed the Indians to come and go freely in their settlements. Then one night a great many appeared, asking for food. Still the white people had no suspicion of evil, and many Indians were allowed even to spend the night in their houses. The pale faces slept peacefully, but for the red men there was little rest. They waited impatiently for the dawn. At length the first streaks of light shivered across the sky, and from the woods came a loud fierce war-whoop. It was answered by the Indians within the settlements, and with tomahawk in one hand, and fire-brand in the other, they fell upon the still sleeping settlers. They spared neither man nor woman, neither the old nor the young, and when they could find no more to slay they set fire to the houses. Then those who had hidden themselves were forced to flee from the flames, only to fall beneath the tomahawk. The Swiss and Germans round New Bern, and the Huguenots of Bath, were the chief sufferers. But the wonder is that any white men escaped, for their cruel work at an end, and the settlements not but flaming ruins, the Indians marched through the woods, seeking any who had escaped, gathering at length to a spot arranged beforehand. Here they drank fire-water, rejoicing savagely over their victory. Then drunk with brandy and with blood they staggered forth again to continue their horrible labours. For three days the slaughter lasted, for three days the forests rang with terrifying war-cries, and village after village was laid in ashes. Then too weary and too drunk for further effort the Indians ceased their awful work. At first the white people had been utterly stunned by the suddenness and horror of the uprising, and they were quite incapable of suppressing it by themselves, but soon help came, both from South Carolina and Virginia. Friendly Indians, too, who wished to prove to the pale faces that they had had no part in the massacre, joined the forces. Hundreds of Indians were slain in battle, others were driven from fort to fort, but not for two years were they thoroughly subdued. Then at length, finding themselves no match for the white men, those who were left fled from the province and joined the five nations in New York, making from this time forward six nations. In South Carolina, too, there was war with the Indians. The Yamassis had been among the Indians who marched from South Carolina to fight against their brothers, the Tuscaroras. Yet a little later they, too, rose against the pale faces. Several causes led to the war, but it was chiefly brought about by the Spaniards, who had a settlement at St. Augustine to the south of Carolina. They hated the British, and although the two countries were now at peace, the Spaniards did all they could to injure the British colonies in America and elsewhere. So now they sympathized with the Yamassis, both with their real and imaginary grievances, and encouraged them to rise against the British. Secretly and silently then the Red Men laid their plans, but this time the war did not burst forth entirely without warning. For when the Red Man has truly given his faith and love, nothing makes him false. Now there was a chieftain named Sanut, who had given his friendship to a Scotsman named Fraser, and he could not bear to think of his friend being slaughtered. So one day Sanut came to Fraser's wife to warn her. The British are all bad, he said, they will all go to an evil place. The Yamassis also will go there, if they allow these pale faces to remain longer in the land. So we will slay them all. We only wait for the sign of a bloody stick which the Creeks will send. Then the Creeks, the Yamassis, and many other nations will join with the Spaniards to slay the British. So fly in all haste to Charleston, and if your own boat is not large enough, I will lend you my canoe. Mrs. Fraser was very much frightened when she heard Sanut speak like this, but when she told her husband he laughed at her fears. The idea that the Spaniards should join with the Indians against the British seemed to him quite absurd. How can the Spaniards go to war with us, he said, while they are at peace with Great Britain? I know not, replied Sanut, but the Spanish Governor has said that soon there will be a great war between the British and the Spaniards, and while we attack on land he will send great ships to block up the harbours, so that neither man nor woman may escape. Then laying his hand upon his heart Sanut implored his white friends to flee with all haste. But if you are determined to stay, he added, then I will take on myself one last office of friendship, and so that you may not be tortured I will slay you with my own hand. Still Fraser doubted, but his wife was so terrified that he yielded to her entreaties, and gathering his goods together he got into his canoe with his wife and child, and paddled away to Charleston. Unfortunately in the hurry of departure Fraser either forgot to warn his friends in the plantation near him or they, being warned, disregarded it, and a few days later the slaughter began. At daybreak the signal was given, and at the sound of the war-whoop the seemingly peaceful Indians were turned suddenly into raging demons who, with tomahawk and torch in hand, sowed destruction and death around. So the land was filled with blood and wailing, pleasant homesteads were laid in ruins, and only heaps of smoldering ashes marked where they had been. But Governor Craven was one of the best governors of his time. He was a man of action and courage, as well as a wise ruler, and he quickly gathered an army with which to march against the savages. The North Carolinians, too, remembering gratefully the help which South Carolina had given to them in their need, sent men. Soon the Yamassis and their friends were defeated and driven from the province. They fled across the border and took refuge in Spanish territory, where they were received with great rejoicing. They might indeed have been heroes returning from a victorious campaign, for the church bells were rung and salutes were fired in their honor. The Yamassis were crushed, but they were not utterly conquered. From henceforth their hearts were filled with hatred against all the Carolinians. This hatred the Spaniards did their best to keep alive. They supplied the Indians with weapons, and made them valiant with fire-water. Thus encouraged they broke across the borders in small scalping-parties, seizing and slaying, often with unspeakable tortures, all those who dwelt in lonely places. These frays were so unceasing and so deadly that at length hardly any one dared live in all the border region. Meanwhile the war against the Indians had cost a great deal of money. And as the Lord's Proprietor made a good deal of money out of the colony, the settlers thought they might as well bear some of the expense also. So they sent messengers home to arrange this matter. But the Lord's Proprietor seemed to care little about their possessions, except as a means of making money, and they refused to pay any of the cost of the war. This made the settlers angry. They had never liked the rule of the Lord's Proprietor. Now they were heartily tired of it, and they refused to stand it longer. King William III was now upon the throne, and the settlers asked him to make South Carolina a crown colony. To this King William agreed. Ten years later North Carolina also became a crown colony, and the two Carolinas from henceforth continued to be separate states. End of Chapter 43, read by Kara Schellenberg, November 2009, in San Diego, California. Chapter 44 of This Country of Hours. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall, Chapter 44, The Founding of Georgia. South Carolina extended as far as the river Savannah, and between that river and the Spanish settlement at St. Augustine, there stretched a great waste of country inhabited only by the red men, who ever and anon made raids into Carolina. Southward from this the Spaniards claimed the land and called it Florida, but they made no effort to colonize the wilderness which stretched between Florida and the borders of South Carolina. So at length the idea of founding a British colony there occurred to an Englishman named James Oglethorpe. He was a truly great man, and in an age when men were cruel to each other out of mere thoughtlessness he tried to make people kinder to their fellows. In those days in England people could be imprisoned for debt, and if they could not pay they remained in prison, often for years, and sometimes till they died. They were starved and tortured, loaded with fetters, locked up in filthy dungeons, herded together with thieves and murderers, or those suffering from smallpox and other loathsome diseases. It was horrible, but no one troubled about it. There had always been misery in the world, there always would be, men thought, and no one had pity for prisoners. But now young Oglethorpe had a friend who was imprisoned for debt, and being treated in this horrible fashion he died of smallpox. Oglethorpe's generous heart was grieved at the death of his friend, and he began to inquire into the causes of it. The things he discovered were so awful that he stood aghast with horror at the misery of the imprisoned debtors. And what was more he did not rest until he had made other people see the horror of it also. Soon there was an outcry all over England, and some of the worst evils were done away with. Then the idea came to Oglethorpe that he would found a colony in America where poor debtors who had regained their freedom might find a refuge and make a new start in life. He decided to found this colony to the south of South Carolina, so that it might not only be a refuge for the oppressed, but also form a buffer state between the Carolinas and Spanish Florida. So from George II Oglethorpe got a charter for the land lying between the Savannah and the Altamaha Rivers, and in honour of the King the colony was called Georgia. Many well-to-do people were by this time interested in his scheme. They gave him money for it, and he also got a large grant from Parliament. This was the first time that Parliament ever voted money to found a colony in America. Of all the thirteen colonies now founded, Georgia alone received aid from the state. Trustees were appointed to frame the laws, and a kind of proprietary government was created. The colonists were to be granted all the liberties of Englishmen, but they were not to be allowed to frame the laws or take any part in the government. After twenty-one years the rule of the trustees was to come to an end, and Georgia was to become a crown colony. All these matters being arranged, men were sent round to visit the jails, and choose from among the prisoners those who were really good men, and who through misfortune, rather than rogary, found themselves in prison. The commissioners refused to take lazy or bad men, or those who, in going to Georgia, would leave wife or children in want at home. Besides poor debtors, those who were being persecuted because of their religion in any European state, were invited to come and find a refuge in Georgia. No slavery was to be allowed, and the sale of rum was forbidden throughout the whole colony. For Oglethorpe knew how the red man loved firewater, and how bad it was for him, and he wanted the settlement of Georgia to be a blessing, and not a curse to the red man, as well as to the white man. Soon far more people wanted to go than Oglethorpe could take, so crowds of poor wretches had to be turned away, bitterly disappointed that they could not go to this new land which, after their terrible sufferings, seemed to them a very paradise. The preparations took some time, and it was about the middle of November, 1732, when at length the Anne hoisted her sails and turned her proud towards the west. There were about a hundred and twenty colonists on board with Oglethorpe as governor, and it was nearly the end of January when the colonists landed on the southern shores of the Savannah, and founded the town of the same name. One of the first things Oglethorpe did was to make a treaty with the Indians, for he knew how greatly the peace and safety of the little colony depended on their friendship. There were eight tribes of creeks who claimed the land upon which Oglethorpe had settled, but before he allowed the colonists to land he himself went ashore, and sought out the chieftain whose village was close to the spot he had chosen for his town. This chieftain was an old man of over ninety years, and at first he did not seem at all pleased at the idea of white men settling on his land. But Oglethorpe was kindly and friendly, he spoke gently to the old chief, and soon won his consent to the settlement, and a promise of friendship. When then the colonists landed, instead of being greeted with a flight of arrows, they were received with solemn ceremony, the braves coming down to the water's edge to greet them. First came the medicine man carrying in either hand a fan made of white feathers as signs of peace and friendship. Behind him followed the chieftain and his squaw, with twenty or thirty braves, who filled the air with wild yells of welcome. When the medicine man reached Oglethorpe he paused, and dancing round him he swept him on every side with the white feather fans, chanting the while a tale of brave deeds. This done the chieftain next drew near and in flowery words bade the white chief and his followers welcome. Thus peacefully the settlement was begun. But Oglethorpe wanted to be friends with the other tribes round, so he asked Tomochichi, the old chieftain, to invite them to a conference. And a few months later they all came. Oglethorpe received them in one of the new houses built by the settlers, and when they were all solemnly seated, an old and very tall man stood up and made a long speech. He claimed for the creeks all the land south of the Savanna. We are poor and ignorant, he said, but the great spirit who gave the pale faces breath gave the red men breath also. But the great spirit who made us both has given more wisdom to the pale faces. Then he spread his arms abroad and lengthened the sound of his words. So we feel sure, he cried, that the great spirit who lives in heaven and all around has sent you to teach us and our wives and children. Therefore we give you freely the land we do not use, that is my thought, and not mine alone, but the thought of all the eight nations of the creeks. And in token thereof we bring you gifts of skins, which is our wealth. Then one by one the chief men of each nation rose up and laid a bundle of buckskins at Oglethorpe's feet. In return Oglethorpe gave each of the chiefs a coat and hat, trimmed with gold lace. Each of the braves likewise received some present. So a treaty of peace was signed, the red men promising to keep the good talk in their hearts as long as the sun shone or water ran in the rivers. And so just and wise was Oglethorpe, in all his dealings with the natives, that in the early days of the settlement there were no wars with the natives. Oglethorpe worked unceasingly for the good of the colony. He kept no state, but slept in a tent and ate the plainest of food, his every thought being given to the happiness of his people. And in return they loved him and called him Father. If any one were sick he visited him, and when they quarreled they came to him to settle their disputes. Yet he kept strict discipline and allowed neither drinking nor swearing. The work of the colony went on apace. About six weeks after the settlers landed, some of the settlers from Charleston came to visit Oglethorpe, and they were astonished to find how quickly things had got on. It is surprising, one wrote, to see how cheerfully the men work, considering they have not been bred to it. There are no idlers there. Even the boys and girls do their parts. There are four houses already up, but not finished. He has plowed up some land, part of which he has sewed with wheat. He has two or three gardens, which he has sewed with diverse sort of seeds. He was palisading the town round. In short he has done a vast deal of work for the time, and I think his name justly deserves to be immortalized. But if Georgia had peace with the Indians, it was far otherwise with the Spaniards. For the Spaniards were very angry with the British for daring to settle south of the Savannah. They vowed to root them out of America, and they set out to attack the little colony. But Oglethorpe was a daring soldier as well as a wise statesman, and he succeeded in beating the Spaniards. It was at Frederica where the greatest battle took place. This town had been founded after Savannah, and named Frederica in honor of Frederick, Prince of Wales. It was built on an island off the coast, called St. Simon, and being near the Spanish border, it was well fortified. At the little village of St. Simon, which was at the south end of the island, there were barricades and a high watch-tower, where a constant watch was kept for ships. As soon as they were sighted a gun was fired, and a horseman sped off to the barracks with the news. Here one day in July 1742 a great fleet of Spanish vessels came sailing. They made a brave show with their high painted prowess and shining sails, and they brought five thousand men who vowed to give no quarter. Oglethorpe had but eight hundred men. Some were regular soldiers, some were fierce Highlanders, glad to have a chance of a shot at the Spaniards, and not a few were friendly Indians. But small though his force was, Oglethorpe did not despair. He had sent to Carolina for help, which he was sure would come, if he could but hold out for a few days. He thought, however, that the position at St. Simon was too dangerous, so he spiked his guns, destroyed all stores, and retreated to Frederica. The Spaniards soon landed, and, taking possession of St. Simon, set out to attack Frederica, but they found it no easy matter, for the town was surrounded by dense and pathless woods. And struggling through them the Spaniards stumbled into marshes, or got entangled in the dense undergrowth, until in their weariness they declared that not the evil one himself could force a passage through. Added to their other difficulties they were constantly harassed by scouting parties of wild Indians, and almost as wild Highlanders, sent out from Frederica by Oglethorpe. But meanwhile no help appeared, and at length Oglethorpe, having discovered that the Spanish force was divided, decided to make a sortie and surprise one part of it. So with three hundred chosen men he marched out one dark night, and stole silently through the woods, until he had almost reached the enemy's camp. Then suddenly a Frenchman who was with the little British force discharged his musket, and fled towards the Spanish camp. All hope of a surprise was at an end, and Oglethorpe returned hastily to the fort, but that the surprise had failed was not the worst. It was certain that the deserter would tell the Spaniards how weak the British were, and that thus heartened they would soon attack in force. Something, Oglethorpe decided, must be done to prevent that. So he wrote a letter in French, addressing it to the French deserter. This letter was written as if coming from a friend. It begged the Frenchman to tell the Spaniards that Frederica was in an utterly defenceless state, and to bring them on to an attack. Or if he could not persuade them to attack, at least he must persuade them to remain three days longer at Fort Simon. For within that time two thousand men would arrive from Carolina and six British ships of war, which he doubted not would be able to give a good account of themselves to the Spanish invaders. Above all things the writer bade the Frenchman beware of saying anything about Admiral Vernon, the British admiral who was coming against St. Augustine. He ended by assuring him that the British king would not forget such good services, and that he should be richly rewarded. This letter Oglethorpe gave to one of the Spanish prisoners they had taken, who, for a small sum of money and his liberty, promised to deliver it to the French deserter. But instead of doing that he gave it, as Oglethorpe had expected he would, to the leader of the Spanish army. The French deserter at once denied all knowledge of the letter or its writer, but all the same he was fettered and kept to prisoner, while the Spanish leaders held a council of war. They knew not what to do. Some thought that the letter was a ruse, as indeed it was, merely meant to deceive them. But others thought that the British really had them in a trap. And while they were thus debating, by good luck some British vessels appeared off the coast. And thinking them to be the men of war mentioned in the letter, the Spaniards fled in such haste, that although they had time to set fire to the barracks at St. Simon, they left behind them a great cannon, and large stores of food and ammunition. Thus was the little colony saved from destruction. By his brave stand and clever ruse, Oglethorpe had saved not only Georgia, but Carolina, too. Yet South Carolina had cause for shame, for her governor had paid no heed to Oglethorpe's call for help, and so far as he was concerned Georgia might have been wiped out. He indeed cared so little about it that when the governors of the other more northerly colonies wrote to Oglethorpe thanking and praising him, he did not join with them. But much to his disgust, seeing their governor so lax, some of the people of South Carolina themselves wrote to Oglethorpe to thank him. It was very certain, they wrote, had the Spaniards succeeded in those attempts against your Excellency, they would also have entirely destroyed us, laid our province waste and desolate, and filled our habitation with waste and slaughter. We are very sensible of the great protection and safety we have long enjoyed by your Excellency being to the southwards of us, and keeping your armed sloops cruising on the coasts, which has secured our trade and fortunes more than all the ships of war ever stationed at Charleston. But more by your late resolution against the Spaniards when nothing could have saved us from utter ruin next to the providence of Almighty God, but your Excellency's singular conduct and the bravery of the troops under your command. We think it our duty to pray God to protect your Excellency and send you success in all your undertakings. But although Oglethorpe had many friends, he had also enemies, some even within the colony he had done so much to serve. There were those within the colony who wanted rum and wanted slavery and said that it would never prosper until they were allowed. Oglethorpe, with all his might, opposed them, so they hated him. Others were discontented for far better reasons, because they had no share in the government and because the land-laws were bad. Oglethorpe, too, had his own troubles for he had spent so much on the colony that he was deeply in debt. So having ruled for twelve years he went home, and although he lived to a great old age, he never returned again to Georgia. At the age of fifty-five he married, then he settled down to the quiet life of an English gentleman. Learned men and fine ladies called him friend, poets sang of his deeds, and the great Samuel Johnson wanted to write his life. Heroic, romantic, and full of the old gallantry to the end, he lived out his last days in the great manor house of an English village, and was laid to rest in the peaceful village church. But the savannah repeats to the Altamaha the story of his virtues and of his valor, and the Atlantic publishes to the mountains the greatness of his fame, for all Georgia is his living, speaking monument. Oglethorpe was the only one of all the founders of British colonies in America, who lived to see their separation from the mother-country. But long ere that, he had to see many changes in the settlement, for the colonists would not be contented without rum and slaves, and in 1749 both were allowed. A few years later the trustees gave up their claims, and Georgia became a crown colony, and the people were given the right to vote and help to frame the laws under which they had to live.