From Boston to Boston: a story of Hannah and Richard Garrett in old England and New England in 1630

Front matter

lUtixCrt'

RinKumtui misaa!:

fir

Contents

CHAPTER page

1 . “Are We Really Going, Mother?” 13

II. Days of Adventure and Memory in

Chapter I ‘‘ Are We Really Going, Mother? ”

Hannah Garrett was running down the nar¬ row, irregular streets of old Boston, England, as fast as her rather short legs and very long skirts would permit. In spite of her haste and excite¬ ment, she did not forget her mother’s warning: “ Be careful, daughter, not to fall down and soil your flowered kirtle or lose your blue-bird locket.” She had been careful, and her best gown and lace collar were neither soiled nor torn. Her dearest possession, the blue-bird locket, was safe on its tiny gold chain; she had kept one hand in guard upon it, as she ran.

This locket, with its bright blue color of a bird’s plumage against a circle of white and gold, had been bought for her nearly a year before by Aunt Prudence, who had come from Lincoln to Boston for her annual visit at the time of the great Fair, on the Mart in Boston, which opened on St.

Andrews’ Day in late November. Amid the cattle and poultry, the linen and homespun, was one booth where merchants from Holland sold their jewelry and toys. It was a proud day in Hannah’s life when she had carried home this locket and her mother had locked it safely in the small jewel-box which Lady Arbella had given her. ^^You must keep this locket until you are a young lady,” her Aunt Prudence had said. “ It is too costly to wear except upon rare occasions.”

To-day had been one of the rare occasions,” for Hannah had been invited to the manor-house of Lady Arbella to play with two girls of about her own age, nieces of Isaac Johnson, the kind husband of Lady Arbella. After some quiet games and a story from the Bible, read to them by Lady Ar¬ bella, they had been treated to cheese-cakes and goat’s milk, and Hannah had been given some cakes to carry home to her brother and sister. The visit had been exciting, but far more so was a word that she had overheard about “ going to New England in the spring.” She was eager to ask her mother if it were true.

Now she was at the gate of her thatched cottage, breathless and so agitated that she almost stumbled over her petticoat. She stepped on the paw of her grey kitten, asleep on the door-stone. Tabby

IS

gave a sharp, surprised mew and ran into the rose¬ bushes, to give first aid,’’ with her tongue, to the insulted paw.

“ I’m sorry, kitty,” said Hannah as she pushed open the door. I didn’t see you there, for I was trying to hold up my skirts. I’ll give you some milk soon to make you happy, but now I must find Mother. Mother, where are you? Are we really going? ” she panted, as she burst into the room.

Her mother, knitting socks by the fireplace, put one finger on her lips for silence and pointed to the settle where a young girl was asleep.

‘‘No, I won’t wake up Faith”—Hannah low¬ ered her voice—“ but tell me. Mother, are we really going? ”

“ Going where? ” interrupted her brother, Rich¬ ard, four years older than Hannah, who was draw¬ ing charts at a small table near the one window. “ Going where, gadfly? ” he repeated.

“ Going to New England; but I don’t like to be called such a horrid name as gadfly. Richard shouldn’t call me that, should he. Mother? ”

“Nay, Richard, a gadfly is not a pretty name for your sister,” said Mistress Garrett, as she smiled kindly at the flushed face of Hannah.

“ That’s just what she is,” persisted Richard. “ She is always gadding and buzzing around aski6 ing questions. Who says we are going to New England? Is it true, Mother? Are we going with Isaac Johnson and Thomas Dudley?’’

Who is asking questions, now? ” laughed Han¬ nah, as she took ofl her cape and knitted hood, and shook out her long, dark hair.

^‘Children! Do be quiet, or you will waken little Faith, and it was not easy to get her to sleep. She has been restless with a bad ague in her ear.”

She is sound asleep now, Mother, and if we talk in low tones she will not hear us,” urged Hannah. So please, tell us, are we really going to cross the ocean in a big ship and, perhaps, see Indians as Mary Chilton did in Plymouth?”

God protect us from the wild seas and the yet wilder savages, if we leave our comfortable home here for unknown perils. Yet your father is ever eager for tests of courage and adventures. Yes, he fain would go in the ship with John Winthrop and Thomas Dudley and Isaac Johnson.”

^‘And shall we go with him. Mother? Oh, do say we shalir^ begged Hannah.

“ It is a fearsome thing for women and children to cross the stormy seas, and I know not yet whether we shall go or abide at home until the settlement is made safer. And yet Isaac Johnson told your father that his wife. Lady Arbella, frail woman though she be, was determined to go with him/’

Yes, Mother, she is going. I heard her say so this afternoon to Mistress Dudley and her daugh¬ ter, Anne Bradstreet. They are going—and Stephen and Adam Winthrop. One of the ships that was called the Eagle is to be named the Arbella, so Mistress Dudley said. I hope we shall go in that ship.”

Probably, you won’t go in any ship,” inter¬ rupted her teasing brother. “ You would be only a girl who could not help much in the settlement. I could hew timber with the men, and I know I could draw plans for houses and forts. I would much rather build houses than make shoes as Father has done so many years.”

“ Simon Bradstreet was talking with your father,” said Mistress Garrett, “ and I heard him say, ‘ Surely, Richard Garrett, your trade will be needed as much in the New England as it is in the Old.’ Father seemed much pleased and he an¬ swered, with his care-free laugh, ^Aye, even more so; for old shoes will need frequent repairs, and new shoes will need heavier lasts, where the only roads are Indian trails.’ ”

“ If I am only a girl I could help in the new settlement, for Lady Arbella said there would be i8 work aplenty for women and children/’ urged Hannah, with a look of challenge at Richard. “ I can help Mother cook the meals and mend the clothes, as I do at home. Oh, I nearly forgot my message from Lady Arbella to you. Mother. Here is a lace collar which needs a few new threads where it has broken ”—she took from her long pocket a carefully folded handkerchief with the collar inside—Lady Arbella bade me present her compliments to you as a fine sempstress and she asks if you will mend this lace for her.”

“Aye, I will do my best to make the beautiful lace as good as new. This was one of Lady Arbella’s wedding gifts that I opened for her, when it came in a packet from Brussels,” she added as she examined the collar. “ If we are to leave our homes for the cold, barren shores of New England, we shall have little need of fine laces and satin pelisses, I fear me. It will be well for us if we find food and rude shelter against the cold and attacks by the Indians.”

“ I will carry a gun when I go to hew timber,” said Richard, taking down an old musket from above the fireplace and balancing it on his shoulder as he paced the floor. “ I would like to shoot down a few of those painted red men when they come prowling around to attack us.”

‘‘ How do you know they all do prowl around and attack people? ’’ Hannah asked. “ Mayhap we shall find some Indians that are friendly, as was that guide at Plymouth, that our vicar, John Cot¬ ton, told us about, the same one who taught the set¬ tlers how to plant their corn with little fishes in the hillocks, and told them where they could find wild fowl and nuts.’’

Go now, Richard,” said their mother, fearful of further disputes. Go and help your father finish his lasts—and be careful not to waken Faith when you go out of the door. And you, Hannah, put on your everyday gown and take up your knitting. We shall need all the warm socks we can make before we leave this land of comfort.”

That means we are really going, really going. Tabby,” whispered Hannah to her kitten that had entered with a plaintive mew when Richard opened the door. She took the pet in her arms and skipped about for a moment, with imminent dan¬ ger lest Tabby’s sharp claws should tear her lace collar or break the thin gold chain which held the blue-bird locket.

“ How soon do we sail. Mother? ” called Rich¬ ard from the open door.

Oh, I know not! God grant it may be warm weather and smooth seas! Now, Hannah, put down that cat and take off your holiday clothes. Pick up that ball of yarn quickly before Tabby chases it,” she added, as the cat jumped down with mischief in her eyes. Balked of her prey, when Hannah had rescued the ball of yarn from Tabby’s claws, the cat completed the awakening of little Faith by springing upon the settle and playing with the lute-string ribbands which were hanging down from Faith’s braided hair. The little girl was rested by her sleep, and stroked the kitten while Hannah and her mother knitted socks, the former with exciting visions of the sea voyage to New England, the latter with sad thoughts of leaving the home-land for unknown dangers and discom¬ forts.

Chapter II Days Of Adventure And Memory In Old Boston

The low, grey cottage of Richard Garrett, shoe¬ maker to the residents of Boston and vicinity, stood on one of the irregular streets that clustered about the Mart, or market place, where the May Fairs had been held for generations and where the City Cross was still standing. The Grammar School, built on the site of an old Friary, was near Han¬ nah’s home, and she would watch Richard and the other boys as they went to this school, a brick build¬ ing with jutting front and arched windows, that bore the date, 1567, when it had been erected in the days of Queen Elizabeth.

Hannah wished she might have a horn-book to hang around her neck on a cord, or carry under her arm, as the boys carried theirs, and that she might learn to read, write, and cipher. But she feared that such a wish was wrong—for little girls were told that they must abide at home and learn to knit, spin, and cook. They might listen to their fathers and brothers when they read from books or told tales from history—and Hannah listened eagerly to many facts that she retold to little Faith when they went to their tiny chamber under the thatched roof to “ go to sleep,” but often to lie awake and talk in low tones, as they heard the wind howl or the waves

lap the shore when a storm stirred up the quiet waters of the river Witham.

One of Hannah’s most graphic tales was about the High Tide” on the coast in 1571. This swept over the sea-wall of Boston, covering the market place and the streets of Bargate and Wormgate, and compelling many people to find shelter on the roofs until the boatmen could rescue them and row them to higher land beyond the fens. Mother had added her girlhood memories of the account of this flood-tide, which had been told to her when she was employed in the manor-house of the Countess of Lincoln at Sempringham.

^‘The beacon burned steadily in the lanthorn tower of Saint Botolph’s church, three hundred feet high; its light could be seen forty miles away on a clear night,” Mother had said. ‘‘At that time there were bells in the belfry tower. When there was danger from pirates or other enemies, the bells would ring chimes of warning. On that night of the ‘ High Tide,’ they played ‘ The Bride of Enderby,’ a tune that always foretold disaster.”

“ I hope there will be a beacon light in some tower on a hill in New England,” said Hannah. “ Perhaps we shall live in some place that will be called Boston.”

Little chance of that, daughter,” her father said with a smile. “We expect to find refuge in Salem for a time, with Governor Endicott and his settlers, or some of us may go to Mishawum, that is already called Charlestown, where are other families who sailed two years ago from England.”

With his superior knowledge, Richard would explain to his sisters how the name, Boston, came into being. “ It was first Botolphtowne, in honor of Saint Botolph who founded it and whose statue used to be on the toll-gate of the old sea-wall. Then it was called Botolston in a shorter form, and, finally, Bot-os-ton, or Boston.”

Mother told them about the noble cathedral and the old Guildhall of Lincoln, where she had lived as a girl. Here William the Norman had one of his great castles which was still standing, although it had been captured and partially destroyed three times.

“ Father said he might take me to Lincoln some day, on horseback, when he goes there to get tanned leather,” Richard boasted.

“ It is a long journey—close by thirty miles,”— was his mother’s serious answer. “ Much of the way is over the fen country, marshy and treach¬ erous for horsemen in the spring season. Well do I remember last spring when John Winthrop and his brother-in-law, Emanuel Downing, rode to Lincolnshire to see Isaac Johnson, and they fell in the bog.”

“ How did they get out. Mother? ” Hannah queried.

“ Father and William Vassell, with Thomas Leverett’s ox-team rescued them and their horses.” With an effort to conceal a smile, she continued,

I was called by Lady Arbella to help clean their linen the next day, and to mend some rents in John Winthrop’s white ruff. It was a humiliating ad¬ venture for such men.”

Often during the evenings of that cold winter of 1629-1630 the talk around the Garrett fireside was about the New England to which they were to sail in the spring. Sometimes, Hannah was allowed to stay up beyond her bedtime to listen, curled up on the settle in a warm rug. She would watch the embers glow and die away, seeing visions of the excitements on shipboard and the possible adventures in the new country. She had her father’s zest for action and his defiance to fear; she could not fully understand why her mother seemed so sad at thoughts of leaving England.

Richard would tell the family about the facts narrated by the master of the Grammar School. He tried to make some charts of the coast of New England. His father declared, with a laugh, that Richard used more strips of leather, tied together with hemp, for his maps than he would to make a pair of shoes.

But they are only scraps, sir, not any large pieces—only what you have thrown away from your bench,” Richard explained with rising color and defense.

Surely, lad, you may use all the scraps you need for your charts; and they are well-made, a credit to your skill and your teacher.”

The master says that Captain John Smith has made an excellent map of the coast of the new world,” Richard explained. “ When he sailed from England in 1614, in two ships, he explored all the coast from Virginia to the north and called it New England. After he came home he made a map of the coast and gave names to some of the places, like Cape Ann, Cape Elizabeth, and Plym¬ outh.”

^^Was it John Smith who gave the name of Plymouth to the place where Carver, Bradford, and Elder Brewster settled ten years ago? ” asked Mistress Garrett. “ I had thought it was so called because The Mayflower sailed from Plymouth, England, after leaving Leyden, when the company was crowded into* one ship.”

No, Mother, Captain John Smith had already placed the name, Plymouth, on his map. He was a daring explorer, and I wish I might see one of his charts.”

A few days later Hannah and her mother were waiting for the return of Richard and his father for the evening meal. Faith was playing with Tabby on the hearth-rug, making the kitten spin around in quest of a small woolen ball. Better stir the porridge again, Hannah, lest it become thick and stick to the bottom of the skillet. I won¬ der where your father and Richard can be. It is a night of frost and sleet outside, and the warmth within will be welcome to them.”

As Mistress Garrett was speaking the door opened, letting in a draught of cold wind, and there were sounds of a man stamping his feet on the threshold. “There is Father—I never can mis¬ take his footsteps—and Richard will be with him. Take the trenchers to the fire where they will be warm for the porridge, and bring the loaf from the oven,” was her mother’s word to Hannah, as she helped her husband to take off his long cape and shake off the frozen drops from his beaver hat.

“ ’Tis a bleak, cold night outside, goodwife, and the fire looks as cheerful as the loaf smells enticing. Bring you my boot-jack, Hannah, and I will draw off these heavy, damp shoes and warm my feet before the fire.”

“A bad night, indeed, and the beacon light of Saint Botolph will be a life-saver, perchance, to mariners and seafarers if such are on the river to¬ night. But where is Richard? Did you send him on some distant errand? I thought he would come home with you,” asked the mother.

‘‘Richard? Richard? Why, isn’t he here?” asked the father, looking about in surprise. “ I sent him to John Cotton’s house with a pair of shoes that had been resoled, more than an hour ago. Our good minister must have kept him for a talk and a cup of tea; he is greatly interested in our boy, goodwife, and often tells me that Richard will make a man of strong mind and noble char¬ acter. How about dipping our spoons into the porridge in the trencher while it is warm. The lad will soon be here to join us.”

It grew darker and colder; the wind howled down the chimney and through the cracks of door and one window. An hour passed, and Richard did not appear. His mother became more and more restless and anxious; she shivered at the sound of the sleet and wind and, in spite of all her determination to keep cheerful and not harbor any tragic fears, her thoughts would turn to those two graves in the churchyard beside Saint Botolph’s. Here were buried two little boys who had died, one of them from fever but the other from an infection of the lungs, after he had been lost for two days in the fen country, where he had fol¬ lowed some strolling gypsies. But they were young children and Richard was almost a man—so she comforted herself, and yet she returned again and again to the door, to listen for a footstep, or open for a second to look down the narrow street. Only the wind and storm could be heard; only the lanthorn in Saint Botolph’s tower could be seen in the inky blackness.

Hannah shared her mother’s restlessness but she tried to assure her that Richard must be safe.

Perchance he is looking at the books in the vicarage library. Mother, for he said the minister told him he might read about King Richard there, or he may have stopped to see Thomas Leverett about those hockey-sticks that they were planning to make.”

“ Richard is not a boy to be so thoughtless of the feelings of others,” said his mother, with a catch in her voice. ‘‘ I fear something has happened to him in the darkness. There were two strange-looking men yesterday, who seemed to be lurking about the Grammar School when the boys came out. Oh, I do not know what would happen to us all if aught of ill came to Richard! ”

There, there, goodwife, don’t worry—the lad is all right. But if you cannot rest in peace until he comes, I will go to the vicarage, where I feel sure he is reading as Hannah suggests, and bring him home in safety. My boots are dry now and it is not far to good John Cotton’s house. Go you to bed, Hannah, where little Faith is already asleep, and Richard and I will soon be back. I’ll put another log on the fire and do you, goodwife, sit you down to knit or spin, and sing some of the hymns you love so well—and sing with such mel¬ ody and faith. I’ll soon be with you again.”

When Hannah begged to sit up, after her father had shut the door and her mother had said to him, “ God speed! ”, her request was not denied. They tried to knit and to recite together some psalms, like ‘‘The Lord is my Shepherd,” but they lis¬ tened in growing anxiety as the minutes passed into another hour—and neither father nor Richard came. “ There’s a light,” almost shouted Hannah, on one of her frequent excursions to the tiny win¬ dow. Yes, two or three lights are coming this way. They must have found Richard, Mother, and are escorting him and Father home because it is so dark to-night.”

^‘An accident! Perchance there has been an accident and he is hurt.” Mistress Garrett’s voice trembled as she hastened to the door. Yes! here were four men with lanterns and long sticks—and she heard her husband’s voice but not that of Richard.

The lights paused outside the house and Gar¬ rett came within, for a whispered word with his wife—she must keep up her courage—and not let Hannah get frightened—for all would be well,” he assured her. No, Richard was not at John Cotton’s; he had left the shoes and started for home three hours before—probably he had gone around some by-path and, perhaps, fallen in the sleet and hurt his foot so that he could not walk home. They would find him all right—for John Cotton, Thomas Leverett, George Phillips, and he were all on the quest, with lanterns, and they would call Richard’s name as they went along the paths, so that he would hear them and answer.

All through that cold, stormy night the men searched the lanes and the shore for Richard Gar¬ rett, holding their lanterns aloft or peering into hidden alleys or wayside tangles. They called his s name often, but only silence followed, except for occasional voices of other neighbors who had been roused by the tale of the lost lad and had joined the searchers in sympathy. Never would Hannah for¬ get a moment of that long night-watch beside her mother! Tabby seemed to realize that her little mistress was in trouble, for she kept awake much of the time, purring softly in Hannah’s lap or lapping her hand with her warm tongue. Mother never cried and seldom spoke—though her lips moved sometimes—Hannah knew that she was praying, then she would put another log upon the fire and wrap the rug more closely about Hannah.

As the dawn came, with a ruddy glow after the night of wind and storm, the men who had been out all night, returned for rest and food. The usual, happy, care-free look on the face of Rich¬ ard’s father was gone. He almost stumbled with exhaustion on to the settle and buried his face in his hands, without saying a word. Now his wife showed her unselfishness; she drew off his boots and wet jerkin, put out dry clothes, warmed by the fire, set the kettle over the flame and, in a few min¬ utes, had hot broth which she urged him to drink, speaking in tones that were cheerful:

“ It is almost light now, husband, and more peopie will be astir to help in the search for the lad. If he is hidden, or has lost his way in the dark, he can find his way home by daylight. Do you lie down, for a little rest! And Hannah, do you go up into the loft and sleep for a little time beside Faith! You have kept a long, faithful watch with Mother.”

Mercy Garrett continued her watch while her husband and Hannah slept. What had happened to Richard? Had he been victim of foul play? Had he wandered off into the bogs? Was he ill somewhere and could not get home? Hope and despair alternated in her heart, as the kettle sang on the hearth and the morning light penetrated the small window-pane. What was that sound? It was a step coming nearer. It sounded like Rich¬ ard’s step—for she had a keen ear for different footsteps. She must be dreaming! She must not let herself cherish false hopes! But the step was on the doorstone. It was Richard. He was open¬ ing the door quietly and peering inside, as if he feared he might disturb the sleeping family.

Richard was shivering with cold and hunger. As soon as he was warmed and fed, however, he tried to make light of his night of adventure. He was sorry he had frightened his mother—she looked so white and the tears would fall down her cheeks as she looked at him. He explained that he had had an accident. The schoolmaster had told the boys, the day before, that one of Captain John Smith’s maps of New England might be seen in the Guildhall where valuable papers were stored. Richard had decided that he would see and study this map at the first opportunity.

When he left the vicarage it was still light; he would have an hour in which he could examine the precious map before he would be expected home. The custodian of the old Guildhall, John Stephenson, knew Richard well and readily granted him permission to study the treasured map, showing him how to replace it in the vault and lock the fastening with the huge key. Richard was such a favorite, both with his schoolmaster and •the minister, that he could be trusted to do no harm to the map or other valuable papers. “ When you have finished studying this map of the very shores where you and your father may be in an¬ other year, lock it up safely and hide the key in this cabinet,” said the venerable caretaker, indicat¬ ing a hidden secret drawer in the side of the wall.

Yesterday two suspicious-looking men were prowling about this town,” he continued, and they seemed intent on examining the windows of the Guildhall, on a level with the street. I reported their presence to our mayor, Thomas Leverett, and they were escorted by two of the kings’ guards to a shallop that has taken them to Lincoln, to the Castle, where they will be examined—for pirates are not always on the sea.”

^‘And did these pirates come back and attack you, Richard? ” asked Hannah, with breathless excite¬ ment.

“ Of course not, silly, no one attacked me. I was only locked into the Guildhall and had to stay there all night.”

But where was the caretaker? ” his father asked.

Well, you see, I was so interested in that map —and I had some scraps of leather on which I tried to make a copy of a part of it—that it grew dark before I realized it. Then I put it away care¬ fully and locked it in the vault. When I went up¬ stairs to the door of the Guildhall I found it locked. I suppose the caretaker either forgot I was there—or, as he said this morning, he thought I had gone home already. The windows, as you know. Father, are all barred with' iron and I couldn’t crawl out.”

“ Why didn’t you make an awful noise and cry for help?” Hannah asked.

“ The wind and storm were making more noise than I could,” was the answer. ‘‘ I thought some one would go past and I could get attention in some way, but it was so dark that I could see nothing but the Saint Botolph beacon—and then I got so drowsy that I lay down on the rug, under the Throne-chair—that was the warmest place—and fell sound asleep. The next thing I knew John Cotton was opening the door with a key, half an hour ago.”

John Cotton? ” asked his father. “ Our good minister was with us on the search all night among the wharves and lanes, calling for you, Richard. How did he know that you were in the Guild¬ hall?”

He didn’t really know I was there, but he said he could not sleep, after he left you (for he knew how much you and Mother were suffering with fears for me), and then he suddenly recalled that I had spoken to him late in the afternoon about the map made by John Smith and my hope to see it. There was a chance that I might have stopped in the Guildhall, so he roused John Stephenson, in his home on Sibsy Lane, got the key to the Guildhall, and found me there asleep. So that is all there is to tell—except that I am very hungry. Mother.”