The young Puritans of old Hadley

Front matter

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Preface

T HIS is the first attempt in the writer’s knowledge to depict the life of Puritan children for young people. While a fascinating task, it has been one not without its difficulties. Two hundred years ago, the sayings and doings of children, instead of being watched, chronicled, and quoted as now, were little considered. That “ children should be seen and not heard,” was a repressive maxim rigidly enforced even in the childhood of many New Englanders still living. Reference to children is but scanty and incidental in the records of the old Puritan times.

But child nature is essentially the same in all ages and climes, save as modified somewhat by surrounding influences. The tale of the two bad boys who cried, “ Go up, thou bald head,” to Elijah, to be speedily and fitly devoured by “ two

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PREFACE.

she-bears,” was doubtless inserted in the Hebrew narrative of centuries ago because there were Hebrew boys then and there needing such an admonition. We feel the kinship of the Puritan boys both with those of Elijah’s time and the boys of to-day, when we read in Sewall’s diary such incidents as these : —

The boys of Boston, in 1662, “ seeing Capt. Breeden in a strange garb, made an outcry from one end of the streets to the other, calling him a Devil. The people came out of their houses to see what was the matter.” And one April first Sewall records, “ I have heard a child of six years old say within these two or three days that one should tell a man his shoes were unbuckled (when they were indeed buckled) and then he would stoop down to buckle them ; and then he was an April fool.”

Not only child nature but human nature is practically the same in all ages. Despite their grimness, there was plenty of human nature in the Puritans. True, they were “ heaven-bound.” As Cotton Mather said, “ Great numbers merely took New England on the way to heaven.” The near, constant, felt presence of God, and it must be added, of Satan also, lent solemnity and gloom to

PREFACE.

IX lives of necessary hardship and toil, lived with such intensity of moral and religious earnestness as the world has seldom elsewhere witnessed. a Duty was the object of life, and the Bible its rule,” truly says Douglas Campbell.

Yet the Puritan had a very human relish for creature comforts (witness Sewall passim) when they could be enjoyed with a clear conscience. Nor was he devoid of the ordinary passions and feelings. Then, as now, life was softened and brightened by home love ; the tender, self-sacrificing love of parents for children, the affection of children for parents and each other ; by the all surrounding beauty of nature, in which the grateful heart saw God’s special love and care for His children manifested ; and by the joy that comes of energy, devotion to an aim, the consciousness of power successfully used for worthy ends.

“ Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear ; —

They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

u Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea ;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free.”

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PREFACE.

This story may be said to be true, in that it is closely based on historical facts. May it help make more vivid to the children of to-day the hardships endured by their forefathers and foremothers in the settlement of this country, as well as their devotion, high aims, and religious zeal !

MARY P. WELLS SMITH.

Greenfield, Mass.,

August 7, 1S97.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Travelling through the Wilderness . . 1

II. Along the Bay Path 14

Chapter I. Travelling Through The Wilderness

“ T T OW much farther must we journey to-day, ^ ^ father ? ” asked Prudence, from her seat on the pillion behind her father, as they plodded along the Bay Path through the woods, westward.

“ Art weary, child ? ” asked her father, glancing back, not untenderly, at the small gray hood whose top he could barely see over his shoulder.

“ Yea, father. It will gladden me when I can get down from the horse. The path is so rough it jolts me, and my side acheth.”

“ Prudence is more of a baby than little Abigail. She doth not complain,” called back John, who rode before his father, driving two cows and some oxen.

“ My son,” said John’s mother, “ speak not unto your sister. This hath been a toilsome

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THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY.

jaunt through the wilderness, e’en for older folk. Prudence’s arms are but short, and ’t is wearisome clasping her father and jolting over the rough path all day long. Pruda hath been a brave little maid ever since we left Old England.”

Prudence’s tired face brightened, and her heart felt warmed and comforted, as she heard her mother’s words, and, looking back, caught her loving glance.

“ In truth, little Abigail hath forgot her troubles,” continued the mother, looking down on the fouryear-old child she carried in her arms. “ She hath fallen fast asleep from weariness.”

“ And Nathan noddeth, and would tumble off the horse, did not my arms make a stout fence about him,” said the father.

Nathan, a sturdy boy of seven, on the horse before his father, rubbed his eyes at this, and said :

“ I am not o’er sleepy, father, but I am sore hunsrrv.”

“ My children,” said the father, “ we must bear without murmuring these lesser trials. God, of His great goodness, hath been pleased to bring us safely thus far on our way through manifold perils by sea, and in this vast wilderness, filled with cruel savages and wild beasts, He hath led and sustained us. To Him be the praise and the glory ! ”

“ Amen,” said the mother, with a reverent upward look.

But Prudence, at her father’s words, looked fearfully into the woods each side the narrow path. The sun, low in the west, sent but a few lingering, broken rays sparkling in her eyes through the overhanging tree branches that brushed against her as she rode. Dark shadows began to gather in the depths of the silent, solemn forest.

Prudence said nothing, for she would not have John think she was afraid, John, who was fourteen, and thought he was a man because he carried a snaphance like his father. But her heart beat so fast and hard that it seemed as if her father must feel it even through his thick doublet, and she clutched him more tightly. Yonder huge bowlder overhanging their path — how easy for the savages to hide behind it, and spring out upon them !

Hark ! Did not her strained ears catch a rustling sound among the leaves ? An instant more, and a fox, startled at the strange sound of hoofs in his woodland haunts, darted across the path and disappeared beneath the thick underbrush.

u Ha ! ” exclaimed John, raising the clumsy musket swung across his saddle and aiming it, but too late, “ had not Sir Fox been so spry, I ’d e’en have had his yellow skin for a cap.”

“ Thou need’st to be spry thyself, John, and alert, too, now thou hast come to dwell in the wilderness,” said his father.

THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY.

“ Have no fears, father,” said John confidently ; “ thou shalt see.”

It was only when they were about going on shipboard that John had become the proud owner of one of the new firelock guns, called snaphances, bought by his father in London. Few were the boys of his age in England that owned a snapliance, and that John knew right well. It was with a longing for adventure that he penetrated the wilderness. He almost hoped the Indians would attack them.

“I would slay them e’en as my Grandsire Ellis smote the king’s brave troopers, hip and thigh, at Marston Moor, in the good times of Cromwell. My father should see that I am fit to bear a snaphance,” thought John to himself, as he replaced his gun with loving care.

Reuben Ellis, his wife and their four children, had left their home in England, unable longer to endure the hardships imposed on non-conformists since the Restoration. Twice had Goodman Ellis been dragged from the conventicle to a prison for worshipping God in the fashion that seemed to him the truth ; a fashion he proposed not to yield even at the cost of his life.

Like many another Puritan, his thoughts had begun to turn towards the new settlements in America, as the promised land into which God was leading his afflicted people. The outlook in

England for the “ Fanatiques,” as the Cavaliers scoffingly dubbed them, grew constantly darker.

Meantime, letters from friends who had ventured into the American wilderness strengthened the growing resolve in Goodman Ellis’s heart to forsake his native land, and cast in his lot with his brethren across the wide Atlantic. Quietly converting as much of his possessions into money as he could, leaving the rest in care of faithful kinsfolk, bringing only a few necessities, he and his family had embarked on the good ship “ Lyon,” landing, after many weeks of weary sailing, at Boston.

Now they were journeying along the Bay Path to Hadley, where Ellis had decided to settle, influenced by urgent letters from his cousin Philip Smith, one of the “ engagers,” setting forth the fertility of the meadow land, and the many inducements to join the Hadley brethren in upbuilding a Christian settlement in the desirable valley of the Connecticut.

Although the country at this time — the summer of 1674, the year before King Philip’s war — was at peace with the Indians, it had been felt prudent to abide in Boston until a little party of twenty persons was collected who wished to travel the Bay Path, and who would be company and protection for each other. At Quinsigamond Pond several had left their company : Daniel

THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY.

Gookin, Thomas Prentice, and others, who hoped to begin a settlement in that beautiful spot, then unbroken wilderness.

John and Prudence were old enough to enter on this new life with all that fresh enjoyment of novelty peculiar to children. In the streets of Boston they had seen their first Indians ; and strange enough had these wild denizens of the forest looked to their English eyes. Prudence could not shake off the impression of fear and aversion she felt at sight of them.

When near Quinsigamond Pond they had seen their first Indian village, and here her impressions had been more agreeable. For the natives here being praying Indians, disciples of John Eliot of Roxbury, had proved most friendly. Indeed, in the opinion of the children, one of the pleasantest parts of their journey had been this stop over night at Pakachoag Hill, where the fresh fish and game, which the Indians were glad to sell for some of the wampum beads with which their father had carefully provided himself in Boston, had been a delightful change from their coarse, dry fare.

Several of their travelling companions would leave them at the new settlement of Quabaug, but Nathaniel Warner of Hadley, who travelled post to and from Boston, the chief link between the isolated settlement and the outside world ; Mr.

Peter Tilton, who had been down to the Bay on weighty business of his own and the plantation’s ; and four soldiers bound from the Bay for Hadley, would travel with them to their journey’s end.

The narrow path, originally an Indian trail, hardly a foot wide (for the Indians always travelled in single file), had been widened here and there by felling trees or clearing away underbrush, so that horses could pass through, but so narrow was it still that two travellers could not ride abreast. The little procession filed along singly, two soldiers leading it, and two bringing up the rear.

As the twilight shadows began to deepen, above the plaintive cries of the whip-poor-will they began to hear the u boom, boom,” of a frog chorus, and presently, through the trees, they saw dimly glimmering a sheet of water, and soon came out on the shores of a large pond.

“We must be nearing Quabaug,” said Goodman Ellis. “ An I mistake not, this must be the pond which we were told lay near that plantation.”

“ Yea, Goodman Ellis, thou art right,” said one of the soldiers. “ This is Quabaug Pond. I thought we should reach here before shutting in, but we have travelled but slowly. Let thy wife and little ones be of good cheer. We shall shortly be under the shelter of a friendly roof. Sergeant

THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY.

John Ayres keepeth here a comfortable ordinary, where we may tarry and refresh ourselves.”

As they stopped to let the horses and cattle drink from the pond, John exclaimed, —

“ Father, I see a light through the trees ! ”

“Art sure, boy?” said his father. “I see nought.”

“ Yea. There, I see it again, high up, as if on a hill,” said John.

“ The boy is right,” said Nathaniel Warner. “ That is the light from Sergeant Ayres’ ordinary, which is strongly built, and standeth on a height, for greater security in case of an Indian attack. Sometimes the thick waving branches hide it from our sight. But we shall soon reach the plantation now.”

Soon all saw plainly the twinkling light which John’s sharp eyes had been the first to discover.

The tired travellers were cheered and comforted by the glimmer of this light, proof that they were nearing a settlement of friends, the only settlement of whites in the wilderness they were travelling between the Bay and the Connecticut. With fresh courage they urged on their tired horses, and were soon climbing the hill where stood the little cluster of possibly a dozen small houses which made Quabaug settlement. The sentinel, already pacing up and down the grassy street, was quick to catch the sound of horses’ hoofs, and when, through the gathering darkness, the first horseman was dimly seen ascending the path, presented his gun, calling :

“ Stand ! Who goes there ? ”

“ Friends and brethren in the Lord, from the Bay and Old England,” answered the soldier.

The travellers were warmly welcomed by the isolated settlers, whose only glimpse of or news from the outside world was given by the occasional stopping of parties of travellers along the Bay Path. Friendly hands lifted down Nathan, stumbling with sleepiness, and Goodwife Ellis and Prudence, so stiff with long jolting over the rough path that they could hardly stand.

“ Give me the babe, friend,” said a strongly built woman, who looked both kind and resolute. “ Thou art sore weary, methinks.”

“ Yea, thou art right. I am unused to journeying so long through the woods. We are but freshly come from Old England.”

“ From Old England ? Then thou art doubly welcome, for ’t is long since we have had letters, and no doubt thou canst give us late tidings of our brethren there, who are sore beset by persecution,” said Goodwife Marks.

“ Yea, lewdness and idolatry prevail there more and more,” said Goodwife Ellis, “ and threatenings and slaughter are breathed out daily against God’s people.”

Goodwife Marks escorted Goodwife Ellis and her children into the ordinary, while Sergeant Ayres, Corporal Coy, and others of the men helped the travellers tether their animals near the inn, where they fell eagerly to cropping the wild grass growing thickly in the clearing.

Although it was June, the night air in the woods was so damp and cool as to make most cheerful the sight of a bright blaze in the great stone fireplace, extending almost across one side of the common room of the ordinary. On the huge crane over its brightly burning logs, Goodwife Marks, aided by other women of the settlement who had come in to help as well as to see the new-comers, had swung a great iron pot, and presently the savory odor of bean porridge and of fish fresh from the pond broiling on the coals, sharpened appetites that needed little whetting. When this food was placed on the table, with coarse rye and Indian bread, milk for the children, and home-brewed beer for the older folk, supper was ready.

But before the company seated themselves around the table, they stood reverently, while Mr. Tilton in a long prayer gave thanks to God who had guided them thus far safely on their way, craving His further mercies.

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As Mistress Marks stepped briskly about, serving her guests, Nathaniel Warner said jokingly, —

“ Hast had any encounters with the savages of late, good Mistress Marks ? ”

TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. H

“ An I hadst, I would do my duty, and that thou knowest full well, Nathaniel Warner,” replied Mistress Marks, with a snap of her black eyes.

She lifted the trap door, and went down cellar for more milk. While she was away, Nathaniel took occasion to tell the Ellises, —

“ Being strangers in these parts, thou mayst not know how valiant our women folk can be in a strait. Good wife Marks here was left alone in the garrison house one day, her husband and the other men having gone to the meadow to work. She saw Indians that she deemed unfriendly, lurking in the woods, designing, she thought, to fall upon the garrison house if they found it unguarded. Nothing daunted, she put on her husband’s wig, hat, and greatcoat, shouldered his musket, and marched up and down on top the fortification, crying ever and anon, like any sentinel, ‘ All ’s well ! all \s well ! ’ The enemy retreated, not daring to attack the fort, thinking it well manned.”

“ That was bravely done,” said Goodman Ellis.

“ I doubt I could do such service,” said Goodwife Ellis, “ unless the Lord strengthened the feeble knees.”

John looked with added respect at Goodwife Marks, as she emerged from the cellar with a pewter basin of milk, and then took from the table the wooden trencher so quickly emptied, to pile it high again with bread.

“ Verily, the first time I ever heard of aught good coming from periwigs,” said Mr. Tilton.

“ Art telling that tale again, Nathaniel Warner?” asked G-oodwife Marks, with flushed cheek. “ Methinks ’t w T ere as well to let it rest. I did but my duty. ’T is no matter for vain glory, or idle speech.”

“ I some time since found it against m} T conscience to wear a wig, and have abandoned the practice, as contrary to nature, and doubtless displeasing to the Lord,” said Goodman Marks, addressing Mr. Tilton, whose good opinion he desired, knowing him to be one of the most worshipful assistants of Hadley plantation, a judge, a deacon, and a representative to the General Court.

“’Twas well done,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Our godly preachers at the Bay have delivered sundry weighty discourses of late against the pernicious vanity of periwigs.”

“ Methinks ’t is but a poor time to discourse of periwigs,” said Goodwife Marks, who seemed little oppressed with awe of dignitaries. “ The heavy eyes of these little ones show that they should be in bed, and I trow, Goodwife Ellis, thou wilt not be sorry to stretch thyself upon a couch again, e’en if it be not a bed of down.”

“ Worshipful Mr. Tilton, wilt thou return thanks ? ” asked Sergeant Ayres.

Again all stood while Mr. Tilton returned thanks at some length. This was no empty form. The helpless handful of people in the wilderness felt comforted after they had placed themselves under God’s protection for the night, and craved His guidance and care for the future.

Goodwife Marks took Goodwife Ellis and the little girls up the rude, ladder-like stairs into the loft overhead, where were two beds for the women. Such extra bedding as the house afforded was spread on the floor in the room below for the men.

Nathan, sleepy as he was, looked longingly after his mother as she followed Goodwife Marks away. But he thought stoutly to himself, —

“ I must not be a baby, like Abigail, now I have come to live in the wilderness. Father saith I must begin to be a man now. Perchance, by and by, I too can have a snaphance of my own, like John.”

He lay down on the floor beside his father and John. The soldiers, rolled in their blankets, were already snoring loudly. The bed of coals in the fireplace having been buried in ashes to keep fire till morning, the room was left in darkness. Without was the steady tramp, tramp of the watch, to and fro.

“ ’T is good to sleep under a roof again,” thought Nathan, as, comforting himself with visions of the gun he hoped to have some day, he snuggled closer to his father, and fell fast asleep.

Chapter II. Along The Bay Path

RUDENCE was awakened in the morning

X first by the bright morning sun, whose long rays streamed in at the curtainless windows full in her face, and secondly by her little sister, who was amusing herself by climbing over her, pulling her, and saying, —

“ Wake up, Prudence. Wake up, and play with

“ Hush, Abigail,” said Prudence, but smiling as she met the bright, roguish eyes of the little one, “ thou wilt waken mother, who needeth rest so sorely. Be quiet, and sister will dress thee, and we will slip down stairs and out for a look at this strange place whither we came in the night.”

Quiet as the children tried to be, their mother wakened, for those whose minds are heavy with care sleep lightly.

“I will dress Abigail, mother,” said Prudence. “ Thou need’st not hasten. ’T is yet early.”

“ But we must start betimes, for it is yet two long days’ journey ere we reach Hadley,” said the mother, hastily rising.

“ Dost think we shall truly reach Hadley to-morrow night ? ” asked Prudence.

“ Yea, if it be God’s will, and His mercies fail not, we shall see our new home to-morrow.”

“ I long greatly to see it,” said Prudence.

It took but a short time to tie the strings of the children’s few and simply made garments, and then Prudence helped Abigail down the steep stairs into the common room below.

The men were up and out long ago, a big fire blazed in the fireplace, and active preparations for breakfast were going on. Some venison frying over the coals smelt most inviting to the children, as fresh meat of any kind had been such a rarity, both on the long voyage and in their journey from Boston, and Abigail stopped, saying :

“ I want my breakfast, Prudence.”

“ Little girls should not ask for breakfast till they are bid,” said Goodwife Marks, briskly. “ Go out doors now, and I will warn you with the conch shell when the breakfast hour has come.”

The girls found their brothers out among the cattle and horses, John helping his father saddle the horses, and bind various packs and bundles on the animals’ backs. Nathan had made friends with a big brown and white dog, who seemed as pleased with Nathan as Nathan with him.

“Come and see this goodly dog,” said Nathan.

“ It mindeth me of England to see a dog again,”

said Prudence. “ ’T is the first we have seen since we left Boston.”

“That is a hound,” said John. “He is gentle; see how he suffereth Abigail to pull his ears ; yet he is brave, and a famous dog for hunting, young Goodman Warner saith.”

“ Dost wish for a dog ? ” asked young Eleazer Warner, who was helping Goodman Ellis. “ I can give thee a hound, the mate to this, if thy father is willing.”

All the children looked eagerly at their father, and his deliberation seemed long to them, before he said, —

“ I judge a dog cannot fail to be useful in the wilderness. I accept thy gift, Eleazer, and thank thee for it.”

“A good dog is almost equal to another man," said Eleazer.

John went oft with Eleazer, and soon returned down the grassy lane between the houses, leading a young hound, who leaped and bounded around his new master as far as his strap allowed in most friendly fashion.

“ What a goodly dog ! ” said Prudence. “ It gladdens me to have a dog of our own. What shall we call him ? ”

“His name is Watch,” said John. “Here, Watch, Watch ! ”

Watch frisked up to John, wagging his tail.

ALONG THE BAY PATH.

“ Watch is part my dog,” said Nathan.

“ He belongeth to us all, doth he not, John ? ” asked Prudence.

“ Yea,” said John, “but I shall take him hunting with me, when I go out in the forest with my gun.”

u It will be prudent to lead him by the strap until he becomes wonted to thee,” said Eleazer. “ But he liketh young folk, so he will shortly follow thee of his own accord. Small blame to him for liking such a fresh young English maid as Mistress Prudence,” added he, pinching Prudence’s round cheek, which bloomed forth from her close gray hood as freshly as an opening rose.

Prudence cast her eyes shyly down, her cheeks blooming a deeper red, while her father said severely, —

“ Eleazer, thou speakest as the foolish ones. Vain words profit little.”

Here, somewhat to Eleazer’s relief, a loud blast on the conch shell gave the welcome call to breakfast.

At the table, many inquiries were made of Reuben Ellis about the brethren in England, and he in turn asked, —

“ Is danger apprehended from the savages about

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you ?

“ Those about us, of the Nipmuck tribe, profess friendliness,” said Sergeant Ayres ; “ but we hear rumors of trouble feared from King Philip by the Plymouth Colony. In truth, I trust none of them farther than I can see them. ’T is always prudent for our settlers to be watchful.”

“ The Mohawks sorely disturb the peace of our plantations on the Connecticut,” said Mr. Tilton. “ They full oft kill our cattle and swine in the woods. We have lately sent a complaint to their chief sachem at Albany, demanding reparation for these damages. They molest our friendly Indians, the Norwottucks and Pocumtucks, who ofttimes come into our plantations for protection from these enemy Indians, and become sorely burdensome to our good housewives.”

“ I can well believe that, good Mr. Tilton,” said Goodwife Marks. “ Gladly would I be free from the grievous trial of having these greasy savages lying about the fire in our kitchens.”

“ It would be an ill policy to offend them, nevertheless,” said Sergeant Ayres, “ so our good women must needs submit with patience to this trial, Goodwife Marks.”

“ We housewives have oft and sore need of patience here in the wilderness, and that thou wilt soon learn, Mistress Ellis,” said Goodwife Marks.

“ I came not into the wilderness as one on a pleasure jaunt,” said Goodwife Ellis.

Breakfast over, Reuben Ellis paid Sergeant

Ayres for their entertainment with sundry strings of wampum beads, saying, —

“ This seemeth but heathenish money, in place of good English shillings.”

“ It serveth better our purpose here in the wilderness,” replied the sergeant, “ for otherwise we must depend solely on bartering. English shillings grow not on the bushes hereabouts.”

Two processions now started away from the door of the ordinary. The travellers for Springfield took the path in that direction ; while those for Hadley took the branch of the Bay Path leading through the present towns of Ware and Belchertown.

The Quabaug settlers stood, shading their eyes to watch the travellers out of sight, bidding them friendly good-byes, with many a “ God speed ye.’’ In happy ignorance that another summer would see Quabaug deserted, its houses blackened, smoking ruins, Sergeant Ayres, Corporal Coy, and others slaughtered in its defence, the travellers journeyed on into the woods, much refreshed by the good night’s rest in its friendly shelter.

At this early morning hour, the forest was no longer sombre. Its cool shade was a pleasant shelter . from the sun’s rays, which only glanced in here and there, flecking mossy rocks- and tree trunks and the grassy path with waving, changing spots of brightness. Sweet odors of pines and hemlocks and ferns, and all the moist fragrance of the woods, made breathing the pure air a delight. Overhead the birds sang joyously, untaught as yet to fear man.

The travellers felt the bright influence of the morning, and Goodwife Ellis, looking up into the branches of an overhanging maple where a robin red-breast was pouring out a flood of music, said :

“ The fowls of the air are making merry in their hearts unto the Lord this morn.”

“ What bird is that, mother?” asked Prudence.

“ I know not,” said her mother. “ It resembleth our English thrush, methinks.”

“ E’en the fowls of the air admonish us of our duty,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Let us too uplift a song of praise to the Lord, as we journey on our way.”