Buch lesen: «True to His Home: A Tale of the Boyhood of Franklin», Seite 5
CHAPTER XII.
A CHIME OF BELLS IN NOTTINGHAM
Some time after Uncle Benjamin, who became familiarly known as Uncle Ben, had revealed to little Ben his heart's secret, and how that he had for his sake sold his library of pamphlets, which was his other self, the two again went down to the wharves to see the ships that had come in.
They again seated themselves in an anchored boat.
"Ben," said Uncle Benjamin, "I have something more on my mind. I did not tell you all when we talked here before. You will never forget what I told you – will you?"
"Never, uncle, if I live to be old. My heart will always be true to you."
"So it will, so it will, Ben. So it will. I want to tell you something more about your Great-uncle Thomas. You favor him. Did any one ever tell you that the people used to think him to be a wizard?"
"No, no, uncle. You yourself said that once. What is a wizard?"
"It is a man who can do strange things, no one can tell how. They come to him."
"But what made them think him a wizard?"
"Oh, people used to be ignorant and superstitious, like Reuben of the Mill, your father's old friend and mine. There was an inn called the World's End, at Ecton, near an old farm and forge. The people used to gather there and tell stories about witches and wizards that would have made your flesh creep, and left you afraid to go to bed, even with a guinea pig in your room.
"Your Great-uncle Thomas was always inventing things to benefit the people. At last he invented a way by which it might rain and rain, and there might be freshets and freshets, and yet their meadows would not be overflown. The water would all run off from the meadows like rain from a duck's back. He made a kind of drain that ran sideways. Now the pious Brownites thought that this was flying in the face of Providence, and people began to talk mysteriously about him at the World's End.
"But it was not that which I have heavy on my mind or light on my mind, for it is a happy thought. There are not many romantic things in our family history. The Franklins were men of the farm, forge, and fire. But there was one thing in our history that was poetry. It was this – listen now.
"What was the name of that man to whom I sold the pamphlets?" he asked in an aside.
"Axel."
"That is right – always remember that name – Axel.
"Now listen to that other thing. Your uncle, or great-uncle Thomas, started a subscription for a chime of bells. The family all loved music – that is what makes your father play the violin. Your Great-uncle Thomas loved music in the air. You may be able to buy a spinet for Jenny some day.
"Now your Great-uncle Thomas's soul is, as it were, in those chimes of Nottingham. I pray that you may go to England some day before you die and hear the chimes of Nottingham. You will hear a part of your own family's soul, my boy. It is the things that men do that live. If you ever find the pamphlets, which are myself – myself that is gone – you will read in them my thoughts on the Toleration Act, and on Liberty, and on the soul, and the rights of man. What was the man's name?"
"Axel."
"Right."
Little Jenny, who loved to follow little Ben, had come down to the wharf to hear "Uncle Benjamin talk." She had joined them in the boat on the sunny water. She had become deeply interested in Uncle Tom and the chimes of Nottingham.
"Uncle Ben," she asked, "was Uncle Tom ever laughed at?"
"Yes, yes; the old neighbors who would hang about the smithy used to laugh at him. They thought him visionary. Why did you ask me that?"
"What makes people who come to the shop laugh at Ben? It hurts me. I think Ben is real good. He is good to me, and I am always going to be good to him. I like Ben better than almost anybody."
"A beneficent purpose is at first ridiculed," said Uncle Benjamin.
Little Ben seemed to comprehend the meaning of this principle, but the "big words" were lost on Jenny.
"He whose good purpose is laughed at," said Uncle Benjamin, "will be likely to live to laugh at those who laughed at him if he so desired; but, hark! a generous man does not laugh at any one's right intentions. Ben, never stop to answer back when they laugh at you. Life is too short. It robs the future to seek revenge."
Uncle Benjamin was right.
Did little Ben heed the admonition of his uncle on this bright day in Boston, to follow beneficence with a ready step, and not to stop to "answer back"? Was little Jenny's heart comforted in after years in finding Ben, who was so good to her now, commended? We are to follow a family history, and we shall see.
As the three went back to the Blue Ball, Ben, holding his uncle by the one hand and Jane by the other, said:
"I do like to hear Jane speak well of me, and stand up for me. I care more for that than almost any other thing."
"Well, live that she may always speak well of you," said Uncle Benjamin; "so that she may speak well of you when you two shall meet for the last time."
"Uncle," said Jenny, "why do you always have something solemn to say? Ben isn't solemn, is he?"
"No, my girl, your brother Ben is a very lively boy. You will have to hold him back some day, I fear."
"No, no, uncle, I shall always push him on. He likes to go ahead. I like to see him go – don't you?"
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ELDER FRANKLIN'S STORIES
Peter Folger, Quaker, the grandfather of Benjamin Franklin, was one of those noblemen of Nature whose heart beat for humanity. He had been associated in the work of Thomas Mayhew, the Indian Apostle, who was the son of Thomas Mayhew, Governor of Martha's Vineyard. The younger Mayhew gathered an Indian church of some hundred or more members, and the Indians so much loved him that they remained true to him and their church during Philip's war.
What stories Abiah Franklin could have told, and doubtless did tell, of her old home at Nantucket! – stories of the true hearts of the pioneers, of people who loved others more than themselves, and not like the sea-rovers who at this time were making material for the Pirate's Own Book.
Josiah, too, had his stories of Old England and the conventicles, heroic tales of the beginning of the long struggle for freedom of opinion. Hard and rough were the stories of the Commonwealth, of Cromwell, Pym, and Sir Henry Vane, the younger.
There was one very pleasing old tale that haunted Boston at this time, of the Hebrew parable order, or after the manner of the German legend. Such stories were rare in those days of pirates, Indians, and ghosts, the latter of whom were supposed to make their homes in their graves and to come forth in their graveclothes, and to set the hearts of unquiet souls to beating, and like feet to flying with electrical swiftness before the days of electricity.
Governor Winthrop – the same who got lost in the Mystic woods, and came at night to an Indian hut in a tree and climbed into it, and was ordered out of it at a later hour when the squaw came home – took a very charitable view of life. He liked to reform wrongdoers by changing their hearts. Out of his large love for every one came this story of old Boston days.
We will listen to it by the Franklin fire in the candle shop. It was an early winter tale, and it will be a good warm place to hear it there.
"It is a cold night," said Josiah, "and Heaven pity those without fuel on a night like this! There are not overmany like Governor Winthrop in the world."
Abiah drew her chair up nearer to the great fire, for it made one chilly to hear the beginning of that story, but the end of it made the heart warm.
"It was in the early days of the colony," said Josiah, "and the woods in the winter were bare, and the fields were cold. There was a lack of wood on the Mystic near the town.
"A poor man lived there on the salt marsh with his family. He had had a hard time to raise enough for their support. A snowstorm came, and his fuel was spent, his hearth was cold, and there was nothing to burn.
"The great house of the Governor rose over the ice-bordered marshes. Near it were long sheds, and under them high piles of wood brought from the hills.
"The poor man had no wood, but after a little time smoke was seen coming out of his chimney.
"There came one day a man to the Governor, and said:
"'Pardon me, Governor, I am loath in my heart to accuse any one, but in the interest of justice I have something which I must tell you.'
"'Speak on, neighbor.'
"'Some one has been stealing your wood.'
"'It is a hard winter for the poor. Who has done this?'
"'The man who lives on the marsh.'
"'His crop was not large this year.'
"'No, it failed.'
"'He has a wife and children.'
"'True, Governor.'
"'He has always borne a good reputation.'
"'True, Governor, and that makes the case more difficult.'
"'Neighbor, don't speak of this thing to others, but send that man to me.'
"The man on the marsh came to the Governor's. His face was as white as snow. How he had suffered!
"'Neighbor,' said the Governor, 'this is a cold winter.'
"'It is, your Honor.'
"'I hope that your family are comfortable.'
"'No, your Honor; they have sometimes gone to bed supperless and cold.'
"'It hurts my conscience to know that. Have you any fuel?'
"'None, your Honor. My children have kept their bed for warmth.'
"'But I have a good woodpile. See the shed: there is more wood there than I can burn. I ought not to sit down by a comfortable fire night after night, while my neighbor's family is cold.'
"'I am glad that you are so well provided for, for you are a good man, and have a heart to feel for those in need.'
"'Neighbor, there is my woodpile. It is yours as well as mine. I would not feel warm if I were to sit down by my fire and remember that you and your wife and your children were cold. When you need any fuel, come to my woodpile and take all the wood that you want.'
"The man on the marsh went away, his head hanging down. I believe that there came into his heart the powerful resolution that he would never steal again, and we have no record that he ever did. The Governor's hope for him had made him another man.
"He came for the wood in his necessity one day. The Governor looked at him pleasantly.
"'Why did you not come to me before?'"
Josiah Franklin looked around on the group at the fireside, and opened the family Bible.
"Do you think that the Governor did right, Brother Ben?"
"Well, it isn't altogether clear to me."
"What do you think, Abiah?"
"Father would have done as he did. He hindered no one, but helped every one. He saw life on that side."
"Well, little Ben, what have you to say?"
"The Governor looked upon the heart, didn't he? He felt for the man. Would it not be better for all to look that way? The worth of life depends upon those we help, lift, and make, not in those we destroy. I like the old Governor, I do, and I am sorry that there are not many more like him. That seems like a Luke story, father. Read a story from Luke."
Josiah read a story from Luke.
There followed a long prayer, as usual. Then the children kissed their mother and Jenny and crept up to their chamber. The nine-o'clock bell had rung, and the streets were still. The watchman with his lantern went by, saying, "Nine o'clock, and all is well!" None of the family heard him say, "Ten o'clock, and all is well!" They were in slumberland after their hard, homely toil, and some of them may have been dreaming of the good old Governor, who followed literally the words of the Master who taught on the Mount of Beatitudes.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TREASURE-FINDER
Little Benjamin once had the boy fever to go to sea. This fever was a kind of nervous epidemic among the boys of the time, a disease of the imagination as it were. Many boys had it in Boston; they disappeared, and the town crier called out something like this:
"Hear ye!
Hear ye!
Boy lost – lost – lost!
Who returns him will be rewarded."
He rang the bell as he cried. The crier's was the first bell that was rung in Boston.
But why did boys have this peculiar fever in Boston and other New England towns at this time? It was largely owing to the stories that were told them. Few things affect the imagination of a boy like a story. De Foe's Robinson Crusoe was the live story of the times. Sindbad the sailor was not unknown.
Old sailors used to meet by the Town Pump and spin wonderful "yarns," as story-telling of the sea was then described.
But there was one house in Boston that in itself was a story. It was made of brick, and rose over the town, at the North End, in the "Faire Green Lane," now decaying Chatham Street. In it lived Sir William Phips, or Phipps, the first provincial Governor under the charter which he himself had brought from England.
Sir William had been born poor, in Maine, and had made his great fortune by an adventure on the sea.
The story of Sindbad the Sailor was hardly more than a match for his, with its realities.
He was one of a family of twenty-six children; he had been taught to read and write when nearly grown up; had come to Boston as an adventurer, and had found a friend in a comely and sympathetic widow, who helped to educate him, and to whom he used to say:
"All in good time we will come to live in the brick house in the Faire Green Lane."
A Boston boy like young Franklin, among the pots and kettles of life, could not help recalling what this poor sailor lad had done for himself when he saw the brick house looming over the bowery lane.
The candle shop at the Blue Ball, that general place for story-telling by winter fires, when it was warm there and the winds were cold outside, often heard this story, and such stories as the Winthrop Silver Cup, which may still be seen; of lively Anne Pollard, who was the first to leap on shore here from the first boat load of pioneers as it came near the shore at the North End, when the hills were covered with blueberries; of old "sea dogs" and wonderful ships, like Sir Francis Drake and the Golden Hynde, or "Sir Francis and his shipload of gold," which ship returned to England one day with chests of gold, but not with Sir Francis, whose body had been left in many fathoms of sea! Ben listened to these tales with wonder, with Jenny by his side, leaning on him.
What was the story of Sir William Phipps, that so haunted the minds of Boston boys and caused their pulses to beat and the sea fever to rise?
It was known in England as well as in America; it was a wonder tale over the sea, for it was associated with titled names. Uncle Ben knew it well, and told it picturesquely, with much moralizing.
Let us suppose it to be a cold winter's night, when the winds are abroad and the clouds fly over the moon. Josiah Franklin has played his violin, the family have sung "Martyrs"; the fire is falling down, and "people are going to meetin'," as a running of sparks among the soot was called, when such a thing happened in the back of the chimney.
Little Ben's imagination is hungry, and he asks for the twice-told tale of Sir William. He would be another Sir William himself some day.
By the dying coals Uncle Ben tells the story. What a story it was! No wonder that it made an inexperienced boy want to go to sea, and especially such boys as led an uneventful life in the ropewalk or in the candle shop!
Uncle Ben first told the incident of Sir William's promise to the widow who took him to her home when he was poor, that she should live in the brick house; and then he pictured the young sailor's wonderful voyages to fulfill this promise. He called the sailor the "Treasure-finder."
Let us snuggle down by the fire on this cold night in Boston town, beside little Ben and Jenny, and listen to the story.
Uncle Ben, mayhap, shakes his snuffbox, and says:
"That boy dreamed dreams in the daytime, but he was an honest man." Uncle Ben rang these words like a bell in his story.
"He was an honest man; but a man in this world must save or be a slave, and young William's mind went sailing far away from the New England coast, and a-sailing went he. What did he find? Wonders! Listen, and I will tell you.
"William Phips, or Phipps, went to the Spanish Main, and he began to hear a very marvelous story there. The sailors loitering in the ports loved to tell the legend of a certain Spanish treasure ship that had gone down in a storm, and they imagined themselves finding it and becoming rich. The legend seized upon the fancy of William the sailor and entered his dreams. It was only a vague fancy at first, but in the twilight of one burning day a cool island of palms appeared, and as it faded away a sailor who stood watching it said to him:
"'There is a sunken reef off this coast somewhere; we are steering for it, and I have been told that it was on that reef that the Spanish treasure ship went down. They say that ship had millions of gold on board. I wonder if anybody will ever find her?'
"William, the sailor, started. Why might not he find her? – William was an honest man.
"It was early evening at sea. The shadows of night fell on the Bahama Islands. The sea and the heavens seemed to mingle. The stars were in the water; the heavens were there. A stranger on the planet could not have told which was the sea and which was the sky.
"The sails were limp. There was a silence around. The ship seemed to move through some region of space. William Phipps sat by himself on the deck and dreamed. Many people dream, but it is of no use to dream unless you do.
"He seemed to see her again who had been the good angel of his life; he saw the gabled house in the bowery lane, and two faces looking out of the same window over Boston town. – William was honest.
"He dreamed that he himself was the captain of a ship. He saw himself in England, in the presence of the king. He is master of an expedition now, in his sea dream. He finds the sunken treasure ship. He is made rich by it, and he returns to Boston and buys the gabled house in the cool green lane by the sea. An honest man was Sir William. He was not Sir William then.
"He returned to Boston with his dream. William stayed in port for a time, and then prepared for a long voyage; but before he went away he obtained a promise from the widow that if she ever married any one it should be himself. There was nothing wrong in that.
"The ship owners saw that he had honor, and that they could trust him. He was advanced in the service, and he learned how to command a ship.
"He returned and married the widow, and went forth again to try to reap the harvest of the sea for her, carrying with him his dreams. – He was an honest man.
"William Phipps, the sailor, heard more and more in regard to the sunken treasure ship, and he went to England and applied to the king for ships and men to go in search of this mine of gold in the sea.
"Gold was then the royal want, and King James's heart was made right glad to hear the bold adventurer's story. The king put at his command ships and men, and young William Phipps – now Commander Phipps – went to the white reef in the blue Bahama Sea and searched the long sea wall for treasures faithfully, but in vain. He was compelled to return to England as empty-handed as when he went out.
"He heard of the great admiral, the Duke of Albemarle, and was introduced to him by William Penn. The duke heard his story, and furnished him with the means to continue the search for the golden ship in the coral reef.
"Ideals change into realities and will is way. Commander William bethought him of a new plan of gaining the needed intelligence. Might not some very old person know the place where the ship was wrecked? The thought was light. He found an old Indian on a near island who remembered the wreck, and who said he could pilot him to the very spot where the ship had gone down.
"Captain William's heart was light again. With the Indian on board he drifted to the rippling waters over the reef.
"Below was a coral world in a sea as clear as the sky. Out of it flying-fish leaped, and through it dolphins swam in pairs, and over it sargasso drifted like cloud shadows.
"Captain William looked down. Was it over these placid waters that the storm had made wreckage many years ago? Was it here that the exultant Spanish sailors had felt the shock that turned joy into terror, and sent the ship reeling down, with the spoils of Indian caciques, or of Incarial temples, or of Andean treasures?
"The old Indian pointed to a sunken, ribbed wall in the clear sea. The hearts of the sailors thrilled as they stood there under the fiery noonday sky.
"Down went the divers – down!
"Up came one presently with the news – 'The wreck is there; we have found it!'
"'Search!' cried Captain William, with a glad wife and a gable house in Boston town before his eyes. 'Down!'
"Another diver came up bringing a bag. It looked like a salt bag.
"An officer took an axe and severed the bag. The salt flew; the sailors threw up their hands with a cry – out of the bag poured a glittering stream of gold!
"Captain William reeled. His visions were now taking solid forms; they had created for him a new world.
"'Down! down!' he commanded.
"They broke open a bag which was like a crystal sack. It was full of treasure, and in its folds was a goblet of gold.
"They shouted over the treasure and held up the golden cup to the balmy air. It had doubtless belonged to a Spanish don.
"More salt bags of gold! The deck was covered with gold! It is related that one of the officers of the ship went mad at the sight. But Captain William did not go mad as he surveyed the work of the men in the vanishing twilight. He had been there in spirit before; he had expected something, and he was on familiar ground when he had found it. He had been a prophetic soul.
"He carried home the treasure to England, and, soul of honor that he was, he delivered every dollar's worth of it to the duke. His name filled England; and his honesty was a national surprise, though why it should have been we can not say. But didn't I tell you he was an honest man?
"The duke was made happy, and began to cast about how to bestow upon him a fitting reward.
"'What can I do for you?' asked his Highness.
"I have a wife in Boston town, over the sea. She is a good woman. Her faith in me made me all I am. She is the world to me, for she believed in me when no one else did.'
"'You are a fortunate man. We will send her the goblet of gold, and it shall be called the Albemarle Cup.'
"The imagination of Captain William Phipps must have kindled and glowed as he received the 'dead don's cup,' which in itself was a fortune.
"'And to you, for your honor and honesty, shall be given an ample fortune, and there shall be bestowed upon you the honor of knighthood. You shall be able to present to your good wife, whose faith has been so well bestowed, the Albemarle Cup, in the name of the Duke of Albemarle and of Sir William Phipps!'
"Captain William Phipps returned to Boston a baronet, with the Albemarle Cup. The widow that he had won was Lady Phipps. New England never had a wonder tale like that.
"The Albemarle Cup! The fame of it filled Boston town. There it stood in massive gold, in Lady Phipps's simple parlor, among humbler decorations. How strange it looked to her as she saw it! Then must have arisen before her the boy from the Maine woods, one of twenty-six school-denied children; the ungainly young sailor with his hot temper and scars; the dreamer of golden dreams; the captain, the fortune-finder, the knight. Another link was soon added to this marvelous chain of events. The house of gables in the green lane was offered for sale. Sir William purchased it, and the Albemarle Cup was taken into it, amid furnishings worthy of a knight and lady.
"The two looked out of the upper window over Boston town. – He was an honest man.
"After this many-time repeated declaration that Sir William was an honest man," he added: "A man must get a living somehow – he must get a living somehow; either he must save or be a slave."
Little Ben thought that he would like to earn a living in some such way as that. The brick house in the "Faire Green Lane" meant much to him after stories like those. He surely was almost as poor as Sir William was at his age. Could he turn his own dreams into gold, or into that which is better than gold?
"Jenny," he said, "I would like to be able to give a brick house in the Faire Green Lane to father and mother, and to you. Maybe I will some day. I will be true to my home!"
